


The Oath of Crowns

by MonsterWolfD84



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aerys unstable but not completely insane, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eddard is Aerys ward, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 108,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterWolfD84/pseuds/MonsterWolfD84
Summary: Before the conquest Aegon had a dream.  Within the dream he foresaw a future where Westeros was destroyed.  A warning within the dream showed the path to Westeros salvation.  The Dragon and Dire Wolf must stand together against the approaching darkness.Generations later Aerys, trusting his sworn brother above all others requests travels north to speak with Rickard Stark.  There he sets in motion events that could either save or destroy his House.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Ned Stark, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 173
Kudos: 469





	1. A Dragon's Dream

(Dragonstone – 0 AC)

Aegon stood upon a hill overlooking a vast landscape, he recognized it as Westeros as though he was viewing if from Balerion’s back. Shadows flew through the sky, a multitude of dragons, and below the beasts of the land went about their business. Fighting or cavorting as they are wrought to.

He watched as the sigil of his house began to subjugate the beasts of the land. All who rose against the dragons were either humbled to kneel or vanished in flames. Yet in the north the dragons landed to a kneeling wolf, his disgruntled brother fleeing with other beasts of the North.

Here the dream split, as at first the wolves and those who followed them remained isolated in the North. Eventually the wolves were betrayed and scattered, and when darkness began crawling its way past a shattered Wall, there was no stopping it. Yet in another version of what may come, the dragon who landed met the wolf as a brother, and together they stood against the darkness.

Aegon awoke before the sun dared break the horizon. Untangling himself from the limbs of his sister wives, he grabbed a discarded set of clothes and quickly made his way to the Drum Tower. Reaching the painted table, he surveyed the distribution of the various houses. Seven little kingdoms unawares to what was to come, his letters to the reigning Kings and Princess having barely taken wing.

The sound of boots approaching and the door swinging open drew the Lord of Dragonstone’s attention. Orys entered with a frown, “Brother? You gave the men quite a start running like a mad man to this chamber.”

Aegon smirked at his half-brother, “Apologies little brother,” he returned his gaze to the table focusing on the North, “What do you know of House Stark?”

“Stark?” Orys approached, “Oldest of the ruling Kings of Westeros. They kept the Andals at bay thanks to their natural borders. Traversing the Neck is deadly, a swamp with more dangers than you could imagine. You and our sisters will have no trouble, what with the dragons. Our soldiers will not be of much use.”

Running his hand along the edge of the table it was hewed to immolate the coast, “Limited area to land ships, must be why the Iron Born have such trouble there.”

“Aye, they’d have to attack a settlement or make their way up a river.” Orys shook his head, “They are known to attack Bear Island with some regularity.”

Aegon turned to Orys, “What do you believe it would take to sway the Starks to join with us willingly?”

Orys frowned, “A marriage, but we’re fresh out of sisters. Perhaps a promise of more independence if they swear fealty to your crown. Promises to protect their ways from the Faith. Unless we speak to Torrhen Stark himself we have no way of knowing what could tempt the man to set aside his crown.”

“That’s it,” Aegon grinned at his brother, “I will be the King of Westeros, but I would be a poor one to ignore the House that has the most ancient claim to such a title. Have all the letters to the Lords of Westeros been sent?”

“Not yet, the Maester and his assistant are still making copies. I told them to send them as soon as they were able.” Orys frowned, “Is there an alteration you wish made?”

Aegon nodded, “Yes, do not send any letters to Winterfell or any Northern house. I shall meet with King Stark myself.”

(Winterfell – Two Weeks Later)

Walking into the courtyard of Winterfell flanked by his sister wives, Aegon was not surprised to see many nobles from the Northern Houses in attendance. Word of his letters had no doubt reached Winterfell, but the fact none had arrived north of the Neck had no doubt drawn some curiosity and no doubt some ire.

“Your Grace,” Aegon bowed his head, “I am grateful to be welcomed to the North by such illustrious figures. I’d hoped to speak as one King to another, but if your vassals wish to hear our words.”

Torrhen frowned as he held up a hand to halt the Dragon Lord’s speech, “We will move to my solar momentarily, to speak one King to another. I do wonder though; did you think to frighten us into subjugation without so much as a word. You notified all of Westeros of your intention but failed to even give us such curtesy.”

Aegon sighed, “That was not my intention, I had hoped to have my foothold established and my anointment as King done much more swiftly then it was. Even now my half-brother is engaging Harren Hoare, I intend teach that Iron Born a lesson.” Aegon glanced towards a man who resembled Torrhen, “Perhaps your own brother could be persuaded to rally your forces in preparation to join him. Just until we are able to come to an accord.”

“Brandon,” Torrhen turned as the man stepped forward, “Get Lords Bolton and Dustin, you’ll command the center they the flanks. Gather the men at Moat Cailin and await my arrival,” he then turned to a rather large man, “Lord Umber, you and Lord Karstark will take your men to the Wall, support the Night’s Watch.”

“As you wish,” Lord Umber frowned, “You want me to take Prince Brandon to Last Hearth?”

Torrhen nodded, “Aye, that would be good, he’s your ward until I send for him.” Lord Umber merely nodded before he and another large man began to move away. Torrhen had noticed his brother had yet to move, “Is there a problem Snow?”

“No brother, but I feel my place is at your side,” He glared towards Aegon, “I see little difference between Valyrian or Andal, why should we treat with invaders.”

Rhaenys spoke up, “Why indeed, we come with a very generous offer. Unlike the Andal or Rhoynar before them we seek to unify the people, not strip away their identity. Valyrian, First Men, Andal and Rhoynar we must all learn to live beside one another. As your own house’s words claim. Winter is coming.”

Aegon noticed Brandon Snow’s jaw tense at that, “You do not see yourself as a Stark?”

Brandon turned to him, “No your grace, I am a Snow.”

“My half-brother is my father’s natural son,” Aegon frowned, “He has fashioned his own name, Baratheon. We see him as no less our brother, and he is my closest confidant and friend. I doubt your brother sees you as any less.”

“Brandon,” Torrhen frowned, “I asked you to lead the men because my sons have too much of the wolf’s blood to keep their wits about them. I know your own wolf’s blood runs hot, but you have long since tempered it.”

“I understand brother,” Snow bowed his head, “I’ll await your arrival at Moat Cailin.” With that he turned and left, two lords quickly joining him.

From behind him Aegon’s sister wife Visenya huffed, “Could we please move this indoors, or at least let me bring Vhagar to warm this courtyard.”

Torrhen indicated the castle proper, “Of course your grace, you’ll find Winterfell to be quite welcoming. Yet first, I feel I’ve been remiss, may I offer you guest rights.”

“Of course,” Aegon partook of the bread and salt, washing it down with the offered wine. His sisters followed his example before the three of them were led into the castle.

His sisters had marveled at the warmth of the castle compared to the bitter cold beyond. Torrhen explained about the hot springs beneath the castle, the water pipped throughout. Aegon was curious but would ask if the legendary Bran the Builder had left any writings later. Once they reached the King’s solar Aegon quickly took notice of the map of Northern Westeros. It only went as far south as the God’s Eye; the rest of the map had obviously been cut away some time ago.

Torrhen noticed his gaze, “My ancestor cut away the south after the Andal invasion. As long as we keep you southerners there, we care little besides the God’s Eye.”

“I can understand that,” Aegon noticed the lands north of the Wall were not very detailed, “Does the Night’s Watch, not map the lands beyond?”

Stark frowned, “No, they have recorded most of the lands that are easily reached. Their duty is to keep that which is beyond the wall out of the lands of man.”

Rhaenys hummed, “What of the Children of the Forest, or Giants? Are they not still in those lands?”

“I’ve heard no reports of Giants in my life your grace,” Torrhen moved to decanter and poured four cups, “The last sighting of a Child was in the time of my great grandfather’s grandfather.”

Aegon accepted the offered drink, examining the dark ale he asked of the one creature Rhaenys forgot, “What of the Others?”

Torrhen froze while handing Visenya her cup, “The Others,” after giving Aegon’s wives their drinks he immediately downed his own before refilling it and downing his second, “I’d figured people from the south would ignore such rumors.”

“All rumors have certain truths,” Aegon continued, “Some nights ago I had a dream. In that dream I saw the sigil of your house and mine betrayed and some consuming darkness ravaged all of Westeros. That darkness came from beyond the Wall. In the same dream I saw an alternative, the dragon and the dire wolf together against the darkness. Together your house and mine, battling to save all of Westeros.”

The King of the North frowned, “You wish to unite our houses? You have no child, and my daughter is already close marriageable age.”

Aegon shook his head, “I do not wish a simple alliance by marriage. Such things are forgotten of within a generation. An oath of brotherhood. Targaryen to Stark, Stark to Targaryen. In the North you remain King of the First Men, but to those in the south you are Warden of the North, sworn to the Targaryen crown.”

“So, we pay taxes to your throne and owe you fealty,” Torrhen drank once more, but it was only a quarter of the cup, “In return I keep my authority here unchanged.”

Visenya spoke up, “We would also request one more thing. A Stark in service to our crown, not a hostage, but an envoy so to speak. What is that saying? There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

(Winterfell – 268 AC)

Rickard Stark watched as the royal party entered the gates of Winterfell. Aerys the second of his name led the possession, his nine name days old son Rhaegar rode next to his father. Dismounting the King of the Seven Kingdoms bowed his head, “King of the North, I rode swiftly after word reached us. You have my condolences for the loss of your wife.”

“Welcome your grace, the North is yours,” Rickard indicated his eldest son, “Brandon will see to getting your men housed for the duration.” At six name days his eldest already stood above Rickard’s waist.

“Brandon,” Aerys smirked, “He’s grown much since last you were in King’s Landing.” The King’s gaze tracked to the next boy in line, “This must be Eddard, your only child born south of the Neck.”

“Correct, your grace,” Rickard chuckled, “Lyarra went into labor shortly after we arrived in King’s Landing to renew the Oath.”

Aerys nodded, “I remember, as I remember distinctly writing that she need not attend the renewing of the Oath of Fire and Ice. She and Rhaella could have completed their part at a later date.” The King looked to the girl next to Eddard, “Lyanna,” the two names days old girl clung to the skirt of a nursemaid who held the youngest Stark, “and Benjen, the last of your pack. A lucky man Rickard, four healthy children.”

“That I am your grace,” Rickard frowned, “We should move to my solar, we can discuss the state of the Kingdom there.”

With a nod Aerys turned to his king’s guard, “Sir Gerold come along, you and your compatriot in the Winter Wolves can pass the time counting stones outside the solar while I bore my Oath brother with my woes.”

“As you wish your grace,” Gerold turned to the younger king’s guards that had ridden in behind him, “Arthur, Oswell you stay with the prince.” They both nodded.

Within the sanctity of Rickard’s solar Aerys slumped into a chair before the fire with a mug of ale, “I’ve made a mistake Rickard. I should have named you as Hand, Lannister is far too ambitious. I had word from our Oath Sister, she has gotten the idea to try and betroth one of her younger snakes to one of Tywin’s golden cubs.”

“An ambitious ploy by the Princess of Dorne,” Rickard drained his cup before taking his seat, “Though, I have a feeling you do not approve of such.”

Aerys glowered towards the fire, “Of course not, she should keep her eyes turned to Dorne and leave the rest of Westeros to me and mine.” Aerys sipped at his drink, “Though, if you need me to find a match for one of your sons in the south, all you need do is ask. It would behoove you to improve relations with a few families that grovel before my throne. For instance, the Reach could send more food north during the winter. Those Tyrells gorge themselves enough as it is.”

Rickard nodded, “Lord Tully sent a raven not even a fortnight ago, his daughter to Brandon.”

“Bah,” Aerys fumed, “Had I any daughters. What good is a pious fish’s daughter for a wolf? Have you seen the state of Riverrun’s gods wood? Pitiful, they have not tended it properly, and I hear their septon tried chasing the Children out.”

“I’d heard,” Rickard set his cup aside, “I sent two giants to Riverrun to protect them. They opted to return to the North until Aegon’s Word was upheld. I believe Lord Hoster is trying to regain some of the lost good will that incident cost him. I did reply that I would have his gods wood inspected, if the heart tree was not still living, we would not come to an accord. I’ve yet to hear back.”

Aerys waved his hand, “We stopped through on our way here of course. The tree looks like it has seen better days. Nothing like the grand heart tree in King’s Landing. Over two hundred and fifty years since being planted, and it dominates Rhaenys Hill.”

“King Maegor took to housing dragons around it to protect it during the Faith Militant uprising,” Rickard chuckled, “Dragon shit was fine fertilizer.”

“The Children in our gods wood believe that to be the case,” Aerys sighed, “I haven’t only come North to bore you with woes of the five Kingdoms I must rule while watching my back. Harold Stark, the Stark in King’s Landing, he’s not long for this world. The Grand Maester is concerned he won’t see the end of the year.”

Rickard nodded, “Harold wrote to me not long ago. His only son died in battle against the Ninepenny Kings, and his daughter is set to marry Lord Dayne of Starfall.” Rickard directed his gaze to the window, “The Oath calls for a Stark to reside in King’s Landing as an envoy to the crown.”

Aerys smirked, “Eddard was born in King’s Landing. You could say the Old Gods were giving us a sign.”

“You don’t follow the Old Gods,” Rickard sighed, “but you are the protector of the Faith, all faiths. He is only five name days; I’ll send him south in three years.”

With a nod Aerys set his drink aside, “He’ll be my ward of course. I’ll have House Stark’s manse in the city sealed until he’s older. Will he have chosen a dire wolf by then?”

Rickard shook his head, “We usually wait till a tenth name day to find one to bond with. Nightwind has only recently found a mate. I’ll have my children bond as soon as the first litter arrives.”

“Good,” Aerys sat up straighter, “Longtooth, Harold’s wolf will be sent back north after he passes. There have been some at court who’ve made their desires known about acquiring a wolf pelt.” Aery’s glanced at the map, his eyes focusing on the Wall, “Any reports from the lands beyond?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Rickard sighed, “Free Folk come and go as they please. Most keep villages in the shadow of the Wall. The Thenns have been troublesome as late, I may need to treat with their Magnar. The Lord Commander of the Watch tells me recruitment is up. They have fifty new brothers that have taken the lifetime vow, thirty have pledged their seven years of service, nineteen of those whose pledges are due to end have renewed for a second seven. He also made note that three who are due to end their second pledge have made it known they will take their final vow.”

“Only three?” Aerys frowned, “Isn’t that fewer than normal?”

Rickard nodded, “Aye, but those three were the only ones to make it known before their pledge ended. We always see a few leave the Wall, only to return a few months later to make their vow. After all fourteen years on the Wall is a long time. Some find they have nothing left where they came from, others miss their brothers, and a few remember they left something in one of those villages.”

Snorting Aerys braced himself, “A good think Aegon and Torrhen reviewed the Night’s Watches vows. We don’t keep a count of the sons of the Watch that join, do we?”

“Nay, it’s kind of customary for the sons of the watch to just remain on the Wall. They view the vows of their fathers to be their own,” Rickard turned to the fire, “I was surprised though, Kevan Lannister was among those who joined this year. He made his pledge here at Winterfell, before our heart tree. He keeps with the Seven but told me he felt the pledge needed to be done before the Old Gods.”

“That explains Tywin’s foul mood of late,” Aerys snickered, “He sees no reason to grant the Wall as an appropriate punishment for those who break the King’s peace. Besides, the watch still pays the families of pledges a stipend for their service. We have three ships full of second and third sons from fleabottom head for Eastwatch every year. The Gold Cloaks have to watch carefully least some fool tries to send a daughter.”

Rickard turned to the King, “If you are concerned the Others will return, there have been no confirmable sightings in over sixty years. The last was a single scout on an ice spider, he was felled by a dragon glass arrow, and his wrights were fed to the flame. The Black Dread burned many during Meagor great ranging, and many more fell when Jaehaerys the Conciliator ran into a horde of wrights during his customary pledge.”

“I never took the pledge.” Aerys frowned, “Do your vassals question my commitment to them for this?”

Rickard stood, “No, while it has been customary for the Prince of Dragonstone to take the pledge there have been many who have not done so. Aegon the fifth did not, but both Prince Duncan and your father spent seven years on the Wall in their youth. As long as Maester Aemon is alive, he is a living example of House Targaryen support of the North and our customs.”

“How is my great uncle?” Aerys frowned, “I have not heard from him for some time.”

“Busy,” Rickard moved to his desk, “The villages north of the Wall have no maesters. Those closest to Castle Black come to him to mend their wounds and see to other needs. During my last visit he and his apprentices saw to four births and set more limbs than I could count. Climbing the Wall has become a rather reckless sport among those living along the Gift and beyond the Wall.”

Aerys moved to sit across from Rickard, “On my next journey here I will allocate more time to make a visit to Castle Black. I intended this trip as a chance for Rhaegar and Brandon to meet, one day they will be Oath brothers, continuing to serve this kingdom as we have. I pity them though, to have the third member of the Oath being so much older. Prince Doran will be a doddering fangless snake by the time we pass our crowns to our sons.”

“Figuratively in my case,” Rickard smirked, “As Torrhen gave his to Visenya as a coronation gift for Maegor. If memory serves, he kept it on a pillow beside the Iron Throne. It was stolen the same night the king mysteriously died. Jaehaerys offered quite the bounty for its return, but it was never recovered.”

“I’ve studied the history surrounding the theft. It could never be proven but all signs point to the High Septon taking it in hopes to break the alliance between our houses. The biggest sign being him sharpening axes with the intent of cutting down the weirwood trees shortly after Jaehaerys coronation.” Aerys smiled, “My ancestor recorded that he was quite pleased watching the High Septon pale as he reminded him that both trees were well protected. One by Children of the Forest, the other by the family’s dragons.”

The sound of swords clashing drew Rickard’s attention, looking out the window he saw the two king’s guard sparing in the practice yard. Prince Rhaegar stood flanked by Rickard’s eldest sons, watching the two older boys spar under the hawkish eyes of the Cassel brothers, Martyn the captain of the guard, and his brother Rodrik the master at arms. The boys had inherited their position from their recently deceased father, who held both.

Aerys stepped next to him, “Here we are speaking of the past, and there stands the future. Our sons will lead this kingdom into its next century. We must ensure its prosperity continues.”

“What truly brings you north,” Rickard frowns, “Lyarra’s death should not have roused you to come to Winterfell. Harold’s imminent demise could have been handled by raven, not requiring a personal visit.”

Aerys focused on his son, “You are the only one I can trust. Truly trust. Ever since King Torrhen swore the oath alongside Aegon before Winterfell's heart tree. The Starks have remained loyal to House Targaryen. When Maegor was sent to pledge himself instead of exile. It was Torrhen who released him from the pledge and proclaimed him king after his brother’s death and his nephew’s entrapment by the Faith Militant. It was the Company of the Rose, a sell sword company in service to House Stark that watched the remaining heirs of Daemon Blackfyre, and thwarted Bittersteel’s further rebellions.”

“Ninepenny Kings the only exception,” Rickard sighed, “At least they halted poor doomed Aeyns Blackfyre from putting his name forth in the Great Council that crowned your grandfather.”

“True,” Aerys frowned, “He came to Westeros to swear fealty and try to end the hostility between our houses. Grandfather’s journal noted Lord Bloodraven was doubtful of his sincerity but agreed to meet with him. One of Aeyns relatives must have truly been against peace, hiring a faceless man to do their dirty work.” He glanced towards the gods wood, “They say Bloodraven went to Rhaenys’s Hill, cleaned the faceless man’s blood from Darksister, and wept tears of blood from his empty socket.”

Rickard sighed, “You are distracting me with history once more.”

“I apologize,” Aerys turned to Rickard, “I desire to strengthen the ties that bind the three crowns of Westeros. The Iron Throne, Sunspear, and Winterfell. So that in their time our sons are not merely oath brothers, but true kin.”

Rickard frowned, “You have but one child, and no Martell has married a Stark since the early days of the Oath. When Torrhen married Princess Deria at the request of King Aegon.”

(Red Mountains – 1 AC)

Rhaenys grumbled from the horse next to Torrhen, “Why did you convince my husband it would be best to leave Meraxes behind? We could have been there and back by now.”

“The dragons are a sign of conquest my queen,” Torrhen shuddered, “Besides, I swore to never ride one of those beasts again after Visenya convinced me to scout the Sisters with her ahead of our forces.”

“Come now dear brother,” Rhaenys giggled at his exasperated huff at the word brother, “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

Torrhen shook his head, “After the marriage and we plant a weirwood tree to signify the Oath, I must return to my realm. Brandon has already desired to head for Essos with those willing to go into self-exile.”

“Why is your brother doing this?” Rhaenys frowned, “Is he still upset about what happened at Harrenhall?”

Torrhen sighed, “His offer to slay Harren was made in the hopes of sparing the smallfolk as well as the women and children. Aegon was wroth at Harren’s disrespect, and I cannot judge his actions as I was leading a force to support Visenya at the Vale.”

Rhaenys smiled sadly, “Aegon does have a temper, as most men do.” She turned to him, “Your suggestion to join Dorne by way of the Oath was quite sly my dear wolf. Though, I can’t understand why Princess Meria requested you wed her granddaughter. You both already have heirs, and the Oath would make you allies without need of marital ties.”

“A union between the two houses that were not conquered by the dragon,” Torrhen looked to the back of Rhaenys horse, two boxes sat secured behind her saddle, their crowns which Aegon had requested they not wear openly while traversing Dorne, “While much of Westeros believe I bent the knee. Meria’s sources have learned otherwise. She learned of the god’s wood oath I made with Aegon, and she realized a similar oath would save her people from future conflict.”

“True, and now the Yellow Toad can boast she is still unbowed, unbent, unbroken,” Rhaenys nose crinkled in disgust, “Only wish Visenya was the one going to witness the wedding and not me. Aegon and Balerion will be meeting us in Sunspear shortly after.”

Torrhen chuckled, “Someone had to go to the God’s Eye to get a sapling from the green men. The Children are not comfortable coming so far south.”

“Some will no doubt come with Aegon,” Rhaenys turned in her saddle, “He is the Lord Protector of the Faiths both old and new.”

Torrhen chuckled, “How many titles can we pile upon our King? We mustn’t bury him in them.”

(Winterfell – 268 AC)

Rhaegar entered the chamber the Kings of the Iron Throne had used since Aegon the first made his first trip to the North. Queen Visenya was known to reside here often in the years following Aegon’s death, until her son took the throne. Following Maegor’s rise Queen dowager Rhaenys fled to Winterfell, where she remained until her death two years after her sister’s. Maegor personally rode North to collect his aunt’s ashes, but left Meraxes to his own devices. The legend goes the dragon remained at Winterfell until Torrhen Stark’s death a few years later.

Looking to the fireplace, he saw a cast of the skull of Meraxes. The real skull was shipped to King’s Landing following the dragon’s death, and now adorns the wall of the Red Keep. Hearing papers being shuffled the prince turned to the solar, “Father?”

“In here Rhaegar,” entering the room he saw his sire going through letters that had arrived ahead of them, “Tywin rules in my stead, but still I am besieged. Does he not understand my journeys to Winterfell are a sacred duty, not an attempt to avoid the duties of the throne.”

“He doesn’t understand the Oath,” Rhaegar was young but had learned well at his father’s side about the state of the Seven Kingdoms, which should have been called eight. Six of the Kingdoms were directly ruled by the Iron Throne. Those being the Crownlands, Riverlands, Vale, Westerlands, Reach, and Iron Islands. The other two North and Dorne were aligned with the Iron Throne through the God’s Wood Oath and the Water Gardens Oath respectively. The Oaths swore the Prince or Princes of Dorne, and the King of Winter to the Iron Throne. The actual wording never mentions the Iron Throne though instead swearing to the Dragon Crown. The Oaths were also called the Crowns Oath.

Aerys scoffed, “Servants need not understand such things. How was training with Prince Brandon?”

“It went well, we sparred against Arthur and Oswell,” Rhaegar shrugged, “They let us win. Brandon was not impressed, told them if they did that again he’d see them stripped of their cloaks.”

“My godson is known as the Wild Wolf, only six and he’s picked up the sword,” Aerys nodded, “What of Eddard? What are your impressions of him?”

Rhaegar frowned, “He is quiet, but the way he was watching I could not help think he was assessing everyone. He is smart, it was he who voiced that my guards had let us win. I think some of Brandon’s ire for the incident came from wounded pride, and that his little brother had spotted it before him.”

“Eddard will journey to King’s Landing in three years to fill the role of Stark in King’s Landing. Though, to the other lords between the Neck and the Red Mountains, he will be my ward.” Aerys chuckled, “I have also made my intentions to wed you to Ellia and Lyanna. To strengthen the unity between the three crowns.”

“Father, we have never needed a marriage with House Stark to strengthen relations. You said that we look upon the rulers of the North as Kin. In fact, Aegon embraced Torrhen Stark and his brother Brandon Snow as though they were his own brothers.” Rhaegar reasoned, “The ties with Dorne have not been as strong, and thus the marriages of Daeron the second and Daenerys reinforced those ties.”

Aerys nodded, “You speak true son. Yet there is something you are missing. Rickard does not say it, but I know it is true. Neither I nor you have taken the pledge and spent seven years on the Wall. This does nothing to endear us to the northern lords. My uncle and father both did their duty, showing their willingness to protect the lands of man against the evils from the lands beyond.”

“I’m only nine father, I’m not eligible to take the pledge until I’m fourteen.” Rhaegar had been weighing the pros and cons of taking the pledge. His mother was against it and as his only heir his father was leery of the prospect. The dangers beyond the Wall saw no distinction between noble born or pauper, or between those who’ve taken the pledge or sworn their lives. “Though, from how you are talking you don’t intend to allow me to.”

“Of course not,” Aerys huffed, “You are my heir, and unlike many of my predecessors I’ve not been gifted with many sons who’ve lived.” Aerys suddenly paled, “By the Seven, it has been staring me in the face.” He turned to his son, “What do you remember of King Maegor’s children?”

Rhaegar’s brow rose at that, “Three of his wives gave him children. Yet none were carried to term and all were grossly deformed. Tyanna of the Tower was reportedly behind it, poisoning her fellow queens. If it was due to jealousy or hopes that she’d have a child of her own to claim the throne is unknown. Some suspect she admitted her guilt to save herself from Maegor’s torturers. Others claim it was a curse from the gods for Maegor’s cruelties.”

Aerys waved him to stop, “Rickard and I discussed much of Maegor, was he trying to warn me? He suspects someone’s hand in your mother’s miscarriages, he doesn’t have the evidence to draw a perpetrator to light. Of course, that’s why he wants to wait three years. He said he’d have Eddard bonded to his own dire wolf by then. You said Eddard is of the observant sort, he will be a fine Hand for you one day.”

“Perhaps, father, you should retire for the evening,” Rhaegar moved to open the door to the bedchamber, “We can continue this conversation once you have rested.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Aerys stood, “Rest would be good. Can’t rest in King’s Landing, too many traitors waiting to stab us in the back. Here the wolves will guard us. Have you met them yet Rhaegar? Allaric Snow is their commander, fine young man, rode with me against the Ninepenny Kings.”

Rhaegar smiled tightly, “I’ve met a few Winter Wolves, but not their commander. He was with you and Uncle Rickard.” In truth Rhaegar had met the Lord Commander of the Winter Wolves, but it wasn’t Allaric Snow. Allaric died fighting the Ninepenny Kings, he’d led the Winter Wolves who’d answered the summons of King Jaehaerys the second. Allaric’s brother Alan Snow now led the wolves.

Watching his father enter the bedchamber he closed the door then silently returned to the sitting room. Sir Gwayne stood silently at the door. Rhaegar sighed, “Please ensure my father is left undisturbed for the rest of the evening. I’ll send Oswell to relieve you soon.”

“No need my Prince,” Gwayne glanced towards the solar, “Your father has always enjoyed his sojourns to Winterfell. No doubt he’ll be rested and refreshed by the time we leave.”

The Prince of Dragonstone had never journeyed to Winterfell before now. Yet he had noticed his father was much sounder of mind upon his returns. Lord Tywin had said Lord Stark had a calming effect on Aerys during their youth. Rhaegar always had to bite his tongue, as Tywin would not know to refer to Rickard Stark as prince or king. Rickard was only rarely at court in his youth, but while there Tywin was put aside by Steffon and Aerys in favor of Rickard. Tywin still held some resentment towards the Starks for this perceived affront.

Lord Baratheon was aware of the Oath, learning of it from his own mother, Princess Rhaelle Targaryen. Yet, he was forbidden to inform his own sons about it, unless the unthinkable happened and Steffon would need to claim the Iron Throne. He would need to undertake the Oath to protect the unity of the Seven Kingdoms.

Exiting his father’s chambers, he made his way to his own. The rooms that Jaehaerys the first claimed during his time hiding in the North. Rhaegar found it kind of ironic that Torrhen Stark crowned Maegor, then hid the cruel king’s nephew from him. He remembered his father’s words to that irony, “House Stark serves the good of the realm, not the good of House Targaryen. Had Daemon Blackfyre been truly good for the realm, then it would be them sitting the Iron Throne and we who were extinct.”

(Winterfell’s Gods Wood – 0 AC)

Aegon knelt next to Torrhen their Valyrian Steel swords plunged into the ground before the heart tree. The two men had just sworn an oath, binding their houses and crowns as one. They stood no longer just the heads of two powerful houses, but as brothers. The oath was witnessed by House Stark’s Maester a number of Northern Lords and Aegon’s wives.

The wording of the oath had been suggested by Lord Reed, a strange little man. Torrhen had called Lord Reed’s people crannogmen, and that it was they who guarded the neck. While belittled by many of the other Northerners, House Stark obviously regarded them highly. Lord Reed himself was rumored to have greensight, a rumor Aegon fully believed after witnessing the man hand Torrhen a sealed scroll on which the suggested wording had been written.

Rhaenys approached them first, “Lord Husband,” a sly smirk graced her lips, “Brother, shall we celebrate this new alliance with a feast. Would you rather we jumped straight to completing the conquest?”

“Celebrations must wait,” Aegon nodded to Torrhen, “Our brothers await us. The Riverlands groan under the cruelty of Harren Hoare and House Arryn believes themselves invincible in The Eyrie.”

Torrhen sighed, “I’ll send word to Brandon to follow your command. I’ll lead a host across the Sisters and take the Vale in your name.”

“Agreed,” Aegon turned to Visenya, “Sister, you and Vhagar will accompany Torrhen’s forces. Rhaenys and Meraxes will rejoin their forces headed for Dorn. We will regroup to plan how best to take the Westerlands and the Reach.”

(One Month Later)

Aegon sat in his tent awaiting the arrival of Orys and Brandon. He’d sent the pair to survey the remains of Harrenhal. He’d meant to only burn the tower Harren and his sons had taken refuge in, but the flames had spread across half the castle. He could hear Balerion’s pained roars, and the nervous commands of the soldiers tending to the dragon’s wounds. Harren had used a catapult with a burning oil shot aimed to kill Aegon. The shot had hit Balerion point blank in the face, temporarily obscuring the dragon’s vision.

Unceremoniously the tent flap opened to admit Orys, the northerner Brandon Snow on his heels. Both wore grim expressions, their armor covered in soot. Brandon refused to look at him, instead examining a nearby map. Orys sighed, “We couldn’t find anyone alive. Looked like Harren secured the womenfolk in their chambers below the tower. Servants were barricaded in the kitchens. The roof caved in on them. Guards were centralized in locations with the others.”

Aegon frowned, “How’s Balerion?”

“Fine,” Brandon growled out towards the maps, “The oil didn’t reach his eyes, but he’ll bare the scars until he sheds those scales.”

Standing Aegon moved next to Brandon, “I may sound callous, being more concerned with my dragon’s well being than the fate of those within Harrenhal. I grieve for them, no one deserves to burn alive like that. Harren wrote his own story, and his actions drove my decision.”

Brandon turned to glare at him, “Do not rationalize wholesale slaughter to me your Grace. I offered to enter Harrenhal and slay Harren myself. Had you kept Balerion away he would not have been hit with burning oil or started more fires. What do you think my brother will do when he hears of this travesty?”

“I’m not sure, but we will learn together in a few days. He and Visenya are on their way along with the forces of the Vale that have been sworn to me.” Aegon turned to Orys, “Brother, bring a quill and paper.” Orys did as bid and laid the items on a table near the pair, “Brandon, please write an account of these events. Leave nothing out, and do not add anything but the facts. Once done, read your own writing and tell me what you believe I could have done differently.”

Doing as he was bidden Brandon began to write. Once done he read what he had wrote, only then did his anger dissipate, “I understand your Grance.”

“I knew you would,” Aegon frowned, “I could not very well send Orys, you, or both of you to your deaths. Had you attempted to kill Harren and failed I would have had no other choice than to burn him out. To avenge your deaths, thus the outcome would have been little different, save I would have lost one or both of my generals.”

Orys laughed, “Well said brother,” he turned to Brandon, “You are a great warrior Snow, but not invincible. Now, let us drink to the departed, and to the soon arrival of our kin.”

Brandon accepted a drink form Orys then turned to Aegon, “Once this war is finished,” he paused watching the faces of the two men, “I will be leaving Westeros. I understand my brother’s oath was made to retain our independence and save our people from such a fate as Harren’s. Yet, after witnessing such a travesty I will not remain in this land.”

Aegon nodded, “I understand brother,” Aegon sighed, “Take people of like mindedness, but remember the God’s Wood Oath also includes you and yours no matter were in the world they may be.”

With a nod Brandon downed his drink before speaking, “I will not betray my brother by disregarding the oath. I will serve my duty to my House. I will merely serve it as far away from you as I can get.”


	2. A Wolf Arrives

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Eddard Stark rode into King’s Landing ahead of a column or riders. His entourage for the trip from the North, only a few would remain to act as his household within the Red Keep. Of those who would remain were a dozen spear wives of the Free Folk who were to act as his personal guard. They like him spoke the Old Tongue of the First Men, and their loyalty to House Stark was unquestionable. By request of the King he also brought a dozen Winter Wolves to supplement the guards. He’d also brought two Children of the Forest to join the dozen or so who resided within the God’s Wood.

Passing beneath the Dragon Gate his nose crinkled at the city stench. They had smelt it upon the approach, but now it was nearly overpowering. Lord Tyrell who’d ridden out to meet the northern party noticed his expression, “The smell is less noticeable within the walls of the Red Keep. I’m sure you’ll become accustom to it before long.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible Lord Tyrell,” Eddard kept his face forward towards the Red Keep. He was cautious about Mace Tyrell; the man was already known as Lord Oaf. He’d recently become Lord Paramount of the Mander, his father having passed ignominiously by riding off a cliff. Mace just happened to be in the capital renewing his fealty to King Aerys. He’d jumped at the chance to be the first to greet the King’s ward as he traveled down the King’s Road.

Mace chuckled, “Agreed, at least I can return to the Reach next week. You should visit when the King gives you leave to travel. I’m sure he would like you to see more of the south than just the capital. It is so rare for a Stark to travel south, I guess seeing as your cousins within the capital have died out, we will be seeing more.”

“Hard to say,” Eddard was guarded with his answers, “Father was most honored with his Grace’s offer for me to ward here. As you’ve heard Father visited the capital often in his youth.”

Mace nodded, “Yes, my mother mentioned such. I’ve also heard you were born here, is that true?”

“I was,” Eddard’s brow rose as it wasn’t common knowledge, “My late mother accompanied father when he came south to renew his fealty to his Grace upon his coronation. I was born the morning after they arrived; mother had to remain a month longer than expected before the Grand Maester would allow us to return to Winterfell.”

A humored smile crossed Mace’s face, “When his Grace announced at court that you’d be arriving he mentioned that you were returning to the place of your birth, a sign from the Old Gods. The High Septon wasn’t pleased by that remark of course. Shall we visit the Great Weirwood, it is on our way.”

Eddard looked toward the massive weirwood that sat atop Rheanys’s Hill. Aegon the Conqueror planted it along with the heart tree in the Red Keep’s gods wood. The Faith Militant attempted to cut down the tree but were stopped by Meagor. Meagor housed the dragons around the tree to protect it. For that reason, the Children of the Forest carved a depiction of a dragon in place of a human face. The dragon face was visible even from this distance.

Eddard nodded, “We’ll make a brief stop, I wouldn’t want to keep his Grace waiting.”

The ride up the hill was quiet, the two Children that accompanied him had moved to squat behind him on his horse. Rosebud the older of the pair piped up, “I’ve never seen one so large south of the Wall.” Eddard noticed Mace glance at the child, unable to understand the old tongue.

Eddard responded using the same language, “Rumors are that the tree grew so quickly due to being fertilized by dragons. It is quite impressive.”

Wart Sap, the younger of the pair grumbled, “Are we to stay here?”

“No, the children stay in the god’s wood at the Red Keep,” Eddard smoothly switched to the common tongue, “You only have to come tend to this tree to check its condition and ensure the Faith has not attacked it.”

Mace’s eyes widened at that, “The Faith would never do such a thing. You must not have heard, a Septon petitioned the king to build a shrine to the Seven at the base of the great tree. His Grace was doubtful, but it has become a place of polite discourse between the Faith and those who follow the Old Gods.”

As they approached Eddard saw Mace’s meaning. Many people of obvious Northern decent were praying at the roots of the tree while a Septon was tending to a small shrine. The Septon was the only one to react to their approach, “Lord Tyrell, I’d heard rumors we were to receive a new Stark in King’s Landing.” The Septon took notice of the Children that rode with Eddard, “Ah, and Berry Stain said new tenders were coming to join his clan. Greetings, I am Septon Watts, I tend to the Sept of Memorial.”

“Sept of Memorial?” Eddard frowned, “You haven’t disturbed the stone, have you?”

Watts shook his head, “Of course not, the gravestone of Brandon Snow is untouched. Though, I have taken the liberty to clean it. Your cousin House here used to tend to that duty, but alas they are all gone now.”

Eddard quickly dismounted, Night Fury, his dire wolf quickly appearing at his side as he approached the tree. An old Maester was sitting on a root, a gaggle of children sitting before him. The Maester did not notice Eddard and continued with a lesson, “Lord Brandon Snow, brother to the King who knelt, Torrhen Stark. He witnessed the burning of Harrenhal, and in grief he departed Westeros for Essos. There he founded the Company of the Rose and swore his undying loyalty to the people of Westeros. Upon word of Lord Snow’s death, King Aegon the First of his Name rode across the sea. He returned with Lord Snow’s ashes and bones; the King buried the chest containing those remains here. Torrhen Stark rode from Winterfell and placed this marker to honor his brother.”

Eddard approached, “You know your history well Maester.”

The old man looked up with a start, “You are Eddard Stark, I would recognize the features of your house anywhere. Word of your coming has reached every corner of the capital. We have been too long without a Stark; the King’s enemies grow brazen.” The old man’s eyes fall to the dire wolf, “You will soon put things to rights, won’t you Lord Stark.”

“I am only the King’s ward,” Eddard reached down to pat Night Fury’s head, “but I’ll do my duty as the Stark in King’s Landing.”

The Maester nodded, “That is all we can ask. Have you come to pray or merely pay your respects to your ancestor’s brother? In either case we can return another day to resume our story.”

Eddard paused the man with a raised hand, “Neither today,” he motioned the man to continue, “I must present myself to his Grace the King. Continue with your lessons.”

Eddard returned to his mount, his dire wolf moving to walk in the horse’s shadow. As he climbed in his saddle, he indicated the Maester and children, “Who are those kids?”

Mace frowned before speaking, “Orphans, Maestor Whitmore runs an orphanage here on the hill. His only chains are in medicine and history I’m told. He’s a Northman like yourself, but I hear he was born in Essos. A member of the Company of the Rose who was sent back. I hear they send a few to the Citadel every few years to replace their aging Maesters. He didn’t advance enough to be of use in Essos, so had to find a place here.”

“I see,” Eddard turned his horse back towards the Red Keep, “Let’s continue on our way. We’ve kept his Grace waiting long enough.”

(Throne Room – Half hour later)

Aerys watched as Eddard walked up to the throne before kneeling and bowing his head. Eddard’s dire wolf sat on his haunches next to the young man, “Your grace, as requested I’ve come to ward in King’s Landing.”

“Good, good,” Aerys smirked his eyes surveyed the court, “Eddard Stark, you are welcomed to King’s Landing. Those who accompanied you will be housed appropriately. I assume your dire wolf is well trained.”

“He is your Grace,” Eddard reached up and scratched behind Night Fury’s ear, “He listens well and rarely strays from my side. He’ll need access to the forest to hunt every few days, I would warn the huntsmen to stay clear of him at that time. He sees dogs as competition.”

Aerys laughed, “Surprised he doesn’t see them as prey. He will have the run of the Red Keep and the surrounding lands. We are not strangers to dire wolves here Young Eddard. The Huntsmen may in fact kennel their hounds and follow his trail to seek out game as well.” Aerys motioned to a man sitting to his right, “Lord Tywin will see to any needs. You will of course dine with my family and break your fast with us as well. Once you have settled in, I’d have you join Prince Rhaegar in his afternoon lessons. Until then you are dismissed.”

Eddard bowed once more before standing and exiting the throne room. Upon his exit he was greeted by Queen Rhaella, Prince Rhaegar as well as two King’s Guard escorting them. Eddard bowed his head, “Your Grace…”

Rhaella interrupted his greeting as she pulled the young man into a hug, “Eddard, it is so good to see you again. My how you’ve grown since last I saw you.”

“It’s been eight years mother,” Rhaegar smirked, “He was but a babe when last he was here.”

Eddard’s face tinge in embarrassment, “Your Grace, I hope all is well.”

“As well as it can be,” Rhaella sighed, “I was heartbroken to hear of your mother’s passing. Such a fiery woman, it is hard to believe she died bringing your younger brother into the world. She had no problems with either you or Brandon, and she wrote the Lyanna was easier than either of you boys.”

Eddard bowed his head, “Mother was ill before delivering Benjen. The Maester attributed that her health was already failing.”

“I see,” Rhella ushered Eddard down the hall, “Well, let’s get you settled then Rhaegar can show you about.”

(One Month Later)

Eddard had just finished his independent lessons, those meant to catch him up so he wasn’t so far behind Prince Rhaegar, when a commotion drew his attention. Entering a courtyard, he was surprised to find Night Fury growling at a rather large squire wearing the regalia of House Lannister. Eddard frowned as he spoke, “Night Fury get over here.”

The dire wolf ceased growling and quickly moved to sit next to his partner. The squire turned to him, “Beg pardon my Lord, I wasn’t watching were I was going. Lord Tywin warned us to keep clear of your wolf.”

“Night Fury doesn’t threaten someone for merely invading his space,” Eddard’s eyes narrowed, “Who are you?”

The squire puffed out his chest, “Gregor Clegane, of Clegane’s Keep.”

“A Knightly House in serves to House Lannister,” Eddard looked surprised, “You’re only six name days? How are you already a squire?”

Gregor’s eyes widened in surprise, “You know of me?”

Eddard snorted, “I know of every House high and low. My father says to know another Lord’s disposition you must look to those who serve him. Your grandfather saved Lord Tytos Lannister correct?”

“Aye, and Lord Tytos knighted him and granted him a holdfast as a reward,” Gregor glanced at Night Fury, “Is that really a dire wolf?”

“Yes,” Eddard patted the wolf’s head, “He is still young, but he was out pacing my brother Brandon’s wolf last we met. By the end of the year he’ll be as large as a man grown, a half a year after he’ll reach his full size. He’ll be three times the size of other wolf breeds.”

“He unnerves Lord Tywin,” Gregor rubbed his neck, “He wanted me to see how likely he is to attack someone. A few of the other squires started betting on who would actually touch him.”

Eddard’s brow rose at that, “Lord Tywin should have no reason to be wary of Night Fury. Dire wolves are terrifyingly intelligent beasts. It is almost like they can smell a person’s intentions. As for this squire bet, I would warn against such foolishness. There are many a Lord in the North missing fingers and hands from such bets.”

“Thank you for the warning Lord Stark,” Gregor nodded his head, “I should return to my duties.”

Watching the large boy hurry off towards the Hand’s Tower, Eddard narrowed his eyes, “Let’s keep an eye on the Hand and his household.” He spoke in the tongue of the First Men. Behind him two spear wives stepped through the doorway, “One of you stay with Night Fury wherever he goes.”

The two wildling women nodded having no need to waste words. Eddard looked to his wolf, “We should not be late for the evening meal. His Grace is not one for tardiness.”

(Hour Later)

Rhaegar watched as Eddard and his wolf entered the King’s dinning chamber. It was a smaller chamber down the hall from the small council chambers. Aerys had converted it into a family dinning room following their return from the North three years earlier. Many people knew Aerys was not completely sane, he often times lost control of his temper. Not to mention his bouts of mental fatigue and sporadic and temporary memory loss.

Following its completion Rhaegar could oft times find his mother here. One of the few rooms outside of Meagor’s Holdfast that she was allowed to be. Aerys had invited her to a number of small council meetings over the past three years, mostly those regarding Eddard’s eventual arrival and the three were former Grand Maester Pycelle’s treason were uncovered.

At first Rhaegar had doubted that Pycelle had actually been poisoning his mother. He’d thought his father’s assumption that Rickard Stark was alluding Maegor’s ill fated offspring to his mother’s miscarriages and stillbirths had been a stretch. He’s been surprised when the rarely seen Master of Whispers had hand delivered the evidence. Pycelle had been recording a ledger of the various poisons he’d been dosing the Queen with. Evident he was trying to prevent a future birth in House Targaryen, but his motives or any coconspirators would never be learned from him. Pycelle fled the Red Keep before he could be arrested, and the ship he escaped on never reached Oldtown.

“Rhaegar, my sweet, you are brooding again,” Rhaella smiled at him, “What has you so troubled?”

Forcing a smile Rhaegar responded, “The Citadel has yet to send a replacement for Pycelle, is it dangerous to be without a Maester. Shouldn’t they have sent someone by now?”

“Maester Hermes is filling the position quite nicely,” Rhaella sighed, “Though, as he was Pycelle’s former apprentice I can understand your hesitancy at trusting him.”

Eddard spoke up from his side of the table, “There are also have Children in the god’s wood here. They can tend to most minor injuries, and severe illness or wounds are not beyond some of their skills. Our Maester at Winterfell often treats with the Children in our god’s wood for elixirs and poultices to speed healing.”

“I was not aware they were healers,” Rhaegar rarely entered the god’s wood, so had little interaction with the Children there. They were notoriously elusive outside of their duties to protect the two weir wood trees in King’s Landing, “Could they provide something that could cleanse the toxins affecting mother?”

“Perhaps,” Eddard’s eyes narrowed, “I’d have to ask. The pair who accompanied me south are still quite young and inexperienced. I’ve yet to meet the ones who’ve been residents here since Aegon’s time.”

Rhaegar was surprised, “Even after all the hours you’ve spent in the god’s wood. Why wouldn’t they show themselves to you?”

“I’m human my Prince,” Eddard’s smile was humorless, “The Children still see us as oath breakers because we failed to protect them during the Andal invasion. They don’t see the difference between Andal, First Man, or Valyrian. Some like those who reside in Winterfell have forgiven us, but many are still resentful towards us.”

“That is why I am the protector of the Faith Old and New,” They all stood as Aerys strode into the room and made for his seat, “Pardon my delay, Tywin and I were discussing the finer points of some new taxes. He feels the North is not contributing enough to the royal coffers. If the fool only knew.”

Eddard pulled out a scroll and handed it to the King, “I finished translating father’s letter.”

“Such timing,” Aerys quickly broke the seal and began reading as servants appeared with their meal, “Oh, the look on Tywin’s face if he were to see these figures.” Aerys quickly passed the letter to Rhaella, “Look wife, see what has become of our family’s investments in the North. The hidden treasury is brimming.”

Rhaegar’s eyes widened at that, the servants present knew better than to gossip, they were all well paid from said hidden treasury. It had been King Meakar who’d devised the hidden treasury. It was meant as a reserve that was directly handled by the king. Even the Master of Coin wasn’t aware of these funds. The money was hidden somewhere in the North, only Aerys, Rickard, and one Northern Lord knew of its location.

When the letter was passed to him Rhaegar could scarcely believe the number he read, “Eddard, is this correct. Five million dragons. It was only ten thousand when great-grandfather started it.”

The young Northman nodded, “I translated the runes correctly.”

Rhaegar glanced at the letter again, “Who translated these missives before you arrived, because the last I’m sure was not near this amount?”

“In the past it was the Stark in King’s Landing. It was his duty to pass such sensitive information,” Aerys sighed, “Since Harold Stark’s death, I have had to rely on my own knowledge of First Men runes. Unfortunately, cousin Steffon is far better at translating them then I, and I could not rely on him for this.”

Rhaegar drew Eddard’s attention, “Eddard, could you show me how to read First Men runes. I have a feeling it would have its uses.”

“Of course, my Prince,” Eddard nodded as they all dug into their meal.

(Tower of the Hand – Later)

Tywin Lannister sat brooding in his solar. A letter from one of his captains reporting they had recovered Pycelle’s body. It had taken it long enough to surface, the Lannister ships had intercepted the vessel he’d been on two years ago. Though, he’d also learned Pycelle had survived that encounter by disembarking at Duskendale. Pycelle was a fool, but when it pertained to preserving his own life he wasn’t without his ways.

Pycelle had made his way through the Crownlands pretending to be a traveling Maester. He’d clipped his beard and dyed what little hair he had. He’d even augmented his chain so no one would assume he was the disgraced Grand Maester. Tywin’s hunters had followed sightings and tips all the way to the Westerlands. Pycelle the old fool thought Tywin would harbor him, after the mess he’d made.

It had been Tywin’s hope and plan to marry his daughter Cersei to the crown prince. He knew Aerys would prefer to wed his son to a potential daughter. Tywin had enlisted Pycelle to ensure that was not possible. He didn’t intend for the onslaught of dead babies that followed. There was no hope of making a betrothal attempt now, in Aerys unstable state he would rightly blame Tywin as Pycelle’s benefactor.

A knock at the door drew Tywin’s attention, he calmly placed the letter in bowl and set it alight, “Enter.”

The door opened revealing Gregor Clegane, “My Lord, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Tywin’s eyes narrowed, “Were you able to assess Eddard Stark’s wolf?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Gregor frowned, “You’re not going to be able to remove it from the Red Keep. It minds Lord Stark better than any of my father’s hounds. I got on its bad side trying to touch it. Never attacked, just threatened me to stay away.”

“Is see,” Tywin scrutinized the youth, “Anything else to report?”

Gregor nodded, “I spoke with Lord Stark, once I told him my name, he knew of me, even knew my age. He said he knows every House high and low. I don’t take him for a liar or boaster, he was just stating a fact. I got this unnerving feeling he was assessing me. I think if I failed that assessment…I think I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

Tywin frowned, “You fear him?”

“Any man fears what they don’t know,” From the corner of the room a Child appeared, doe eye and spotted like an antelope. She carried a cup and handed it to Clegane, “Your medicine young ser, your mother would be worried if you failed to keep up your regimen.”

Clegane snatched the cup and downed the contents, the grimace on the boy’s face revealed the medicine was quite unpleasant to taste. Tywin sighed, “That will be all Gregor, retire then return to your usual duties on the morrow.”

“Yes, my Lord,” The massive boy turned and left the solar.

Tywin turned to the Child, “Thistle Root, what was that you gave Gregor?”

“An elixir, it heals the mind and balances the humors.” The Child grinned mischievously, “Moss Wart of Clegane Keep prescribed it when young Gregor began behaving rather irregularly, even for one of your kind. He doesn’t know but he must take the elixir at least once every turn of the moon, unless he wishes to die a most horrible death.”

Tywin was surprised, “A poison?”

“Any medicine is poison, and many poisons are medicine in the right dosage,” Thistle Root frowned, “I would warn against plotting against the Starks. You know not what terrifying power they can bring down upon you.”

“Bah, they have fewer than thirty thousand troops across the whole of the North, a few elite martial orders do not frighten me,” Tywin looked to the ashes of his captain’s dispatch, “Can you undo what Pycelle has done? Heal the Queen?”

“No,” Thistle Root glowered, “I can tend to one’s mind and mend torn flesh, but I cannot cleanse the body of such toxins, they are foreign to me and mine. My only remedy is time, allow her body to repel the toxins naturally.”

Tywin nodded, “I see. If that is all I have no further use for you, you can see yourself out.”

“I’ll return to the Rock, the god’s wood calls to me,” With that the small creature dashed to the window and was gone.

Once alone the Lord of Lannister and Hand of the King brooded on his plans. His all-important legacy was on shaky ground. He needed counsel but could not risk Joanna coming to King’s Landing. Not with the way Aerys eyed her whenever they were in the same room. Pulling out a blank sheet of parchment he drafted a short notice requesting a leave of absence to visit his family. Aerys would doubtlessly agree, especially after their recent disagreement over Northern taxation.

Once the notice was dry and sealed Tywin doused the candles and retired to his bedchamber. He planned to leave in two days and would need to find a suitable person to be the acting Hand in his stead.

(The Wall – 3 AC)

Aegon stood at the top of the wall Balerion perched on the icy tower nearby. The King of the Seven Kingdoms looked out upon a frozen landscape. Footsteps drew his attention, Torrhen approached with the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Lord Commander Hoare resembled his brother but seemed a smarter man than the late King Harren.

Hoare glowered at Aegon as he approached, “Your Grace, sorry if I don’t bow, but Kings don’t really concern us here. I’ve read a draft of the Maesters accounts of the conquest, like how you admit to killing my brother and nephews. Yet you failed to reveal the fate of my nieces and good sister.”

“Lord Commander,” Torrhen’s voice was laced with warning, “Remember your vows.”

The Lord Commander nodded, “Aye, they’re the only reason I didn’t ride down there and blacken your eye. Drowned God take Harren, but my nephews and nieces were just children. What harm could they do you?”

Aegon’s brow rose, “I see the Maester left some things out. My brother and Lord Stark’s brother who accompanied me to Harrenhal entered the tower. Harren’s sons were dead before Balerion burned the tower. Their remains showed obvious signs of violence. As for your good sister and nieces, that was a regrettable tragedy.”

“Hmm, you can choke on your remorse,” the Lord Commander turned to Torrhen, “What brings such noble lords to this frozen shithole?”

Torrhen sighed, “Aegon wishes to review the Night’s Watch vows. He feels that over the last thousand years something has not been kept as it once was. That too much has changed over the centuries and we have forgotten the past.”

Hoare nodded, “I see, well what reforms does our illustrious King wish to make to an organization that is meant to exist separate from the realm.”

“You guard the realm of men, yet you are viewed as no longer a part of the realm,” Aegon frowned, “Is that not hypocritical. The realm requires your service, yet you are severed from it.”

“That’s the way its been since the beginning,” Hoare snorted, “We’re a standing army, and until recently we been sitting right in the King of the North’s backyard. Imagine what Lord Stark’s ancestors could have done to the Andals had they called the Night’s Watch to battle.”

“True,” Aegon continued, “But truly what does the Night’s Watch guard the realm against?”

Hoare indicated the frozen landscape, “Whatever, evils out there, inspired Bran the Builder to raise up this god forsaken wall. Wildlings it seems, since they’re about the only people we see out there.”

“I see,” Aegon smirked, “Then why build gates in the wall? Large gates, large enough for a mammoth to walk through.”

“Only a few of the gates are that large,” the Lord Commander nodded, “I’m starting to see what you’re getting at.”

Aegon nodded, “Wildlings, even as savage as they may be, are still men. I think you know the true evil this wall was built to stand against. I think you’ve seen them, you’re just too scared to admit it.”

“Aye, we glimpse them in the night, in the fog, and in blizzards. Terrifying to behold. They are beautiful but not in a normal way. They look as fragile as glass, but I’ve seen them withstand blows that could shatter steel. I’ve seen them tear men apart, just to raise them back up as murderous wrights.” Hoare swallowed hard, “We don’t fight them if we can flee, and if we do have to fight them. Only a few remain to do so while the rest flee.”

Torrhen was surprised by this, “Why haven’t you sent word of this?”

“Would you or any other King have believed me?” Hoare scoffed, “I sent word to my brother, the damned fool, replied I need to stop drinking and stop listening to stories meant to scare children.”

Aegon approached the battlement facing the frozen waste, “We need to make contact with every Wildling tribe. Find the Giants, the Children and anyone else who needs to flee south. As your King I command you to give sanctuary to those fleeing the ancient enemy.”

“I don’t take not orders from no King,” the Lord Commander nodded, “but aye, I’ll have every castle up and down the Wall ready to take in anyone ready to flee south.”

Torrhen frowned, “When and where was the last sighting?”

“A year ago, at the edge of the Lands of Always Winter,” the Lord Commander shuttered, “Three of them, my rangers said they just stood there staring at them. One rode an Ice Spider; the companions were on foot. We think they were testing the temperature, trying to predict the next winter.”

Aegon turned to his oath brother, “Torrhen, we will discuss revisions to the Night’s Watch after the coming crisis has been averted.”

The next weeks were trying as Aegon flew ahead of an army of Northern lords and Night’s Watch members. The first village they found had been terrified by their numbers, but once they heard of the looming threat, they followed Lord Karstark and a dozen Night’s Watch towards the Wall. They’d even left a few of their fighters to act as envoys for Aegon’s forces.

It was three weeks into the ranging in search of Wildling villages they had their first encounter with the others. Their Free Folk escorts had told them Others were more active at night. So, they aimed to reach a nearby village before the sun set. Someone else had a similar plan as they came upon the village in chaos. Wrights and Others swarmed between the Free Folk tents. The living tried to flee or fight in vain.

Aegon watched as Torrhen drew Ice and waded into the chaos. His eyes widened as even a nick from the Valyrian steel blade sent wrights to the ground, and they did not rise again. One Other approached Torrhen, crystal sword relaxed. Aegon could read the creatures confidence even from his place on Balerion’s back.

The creature allowed Torrhen the first strike, a mistake as it would be the last. Ice went through the creature like a hot knife through butter. The Other screamed in their indecipherable language as he melted away. Resounding screams went throughout the village as Others turned to see what had happened.

Torrhen raised Ice into the air, “Hear me you ice demons. Abandon this field of battle. I am Torrhen Stark, descendant of Brandon Stark. My ancestors drove you back once, and we will do so again. Return to your Land of Always Winter now or stretch your necks so I may end your misery quickly.”

Aegon smirked as he reached for Blackfyre at his hip, “Balerion, introduce these Others to Dragon’s fire.”

It didn’t take long to wipe out the remaining wrights, a few brave Others approached Torrhen, but each met the same fate as the first. Their crystal swords shattered against Ice before their bodies melted as they were cut down.

Later as they set up a perimeter around the village Aegon approached his oath brother, “I do believe you reminded those vile things to fear the First Men.”

“Aye,” Torrhen glanced to a remnant of Balerion’s fire, “and the Black Dread gave them reason to fear dragons. I will not leave anyone to suffer at the hands of those fiends Aegon. I have spoke with the villagers here. There is a grove nearby where the Children are known to frequent. I intend to parlay with them. There are several clans of giants to the east. I will send Lord Umber with a Free Folk emissary to convince them to pass through the wall.”

Aegon rested a hand on Blackfyre, “I’ll continue leading the men from the ground. I too carry a Valyrian steel sword. I’ll introduce any Other’s I meet to the Stranger.”

Torrhen gripped Aegon’s shoulder, “We’re in the true North my brother. There are no Seven here, this is the land of the Old Gods, their power is strongest here.”

Aegon noticed as weir wood tree, “I see, then perhaps we should revitalize their power in the south.”

“One battle at a time brother,” Torrhen turned towards his men, “Ready the wounded for transport, gather only the necessities, leave nothing for the enemy. Burn the dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll continue mixing timelines, past to present. Sometimes the scenes with be related in some way, or like this one they have no real connections outside of both being three years after the events of Chapter 1.
> 
> As you may or may not have guessed Gregor isn't going to be the ruthless monster he is in cannon. We're a bit off (2 years) from Sandor's scaring. I hope you'll enjoy how that occurs in this world. No, it wasn't a burning bedding accident.
> 
> Depiction of the Others will be more in line with the books.


	3. A Cold Wind Blows

(The Wall – 4 AC)

Visenya Targaryen walked among the refugees passing through the gate of Castle Black. She and her sister had arrived this morning ahead of the reinforcements from the south. It had taken nearly a year to rally forces from the Riverlands, Vale, and Westerlands. Orys had been sent to hold King’s Landing. Dorn had been not included within the summons for aid due to the drastic temperature difference between the two regions.

Princess Deria had arrived though with a token force. She claimed that since her husband had gone and ran off beyond the Wall, she’d have to go drag him back. The Queen doubted the Princess’s sincerity, the couple had rarely been in the same city for more than a day since their wedding. She’d begun to see Aegon’s reasoning against marital alliances.

“Sister dear,” Rhaenys called to her, “I just spoke to Lord Dustin. Torrhen should be with the next wave of refugees. He’s ordered all castles to close their gates as soon as Balerion is seen.”

Visenya nodded, “I’ll have the Maester send word to the other castles.” She glanced around at the people nervously walking through the yard, fear held sway on many of their faces, “I had no idea so many lived beyond the Wall.”

Rhaenys smiled, “I hear Giants have passed through the gates at Eastwatch by the Sea and a few of the other castles. Lord Umber is gathering them near Last Hearth. I wonder if the Children are coming too.”

“From our husband’s letter I would think so,” Visenya gripped Darksister’s hilt. Ever since the letter arrived in King’s Landing, she had felt concern for both her husband and their oath brother. Aegon flew back to Castle Black at regular intervals to send status updates. He and Torrhen had been counting the number of Others they each slew. A few other Northern Lords had Valyrian steel weapons. Visenya had called for all Lords of Westeros with such weapons to head for the Wall.

To her everlasting surprise a number of Iron Born had answered her call. Each carrying a blade of the finest Valyrian steel. The Harlaw was the leader of the reavers who arrived at Riverrun. He’d reported that the Greyjoy was leading ships with more men to Eastwatch to ensure the Iron Born were not forgotten.

It had been Harlaw who told Visenya and Rhaenys of the Long Night. Iron Born were not immune to the Others because they lived on islands. There was meaning behind the blessing. What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. From the accounts the soldiers escorting the refugees gave of the Wrights, it was safe to assume the blessing had originally been a warning.

“My Queens,” she turned to find the Lord Commander limping towards them, his right eye had been taken by a Wright a fortnight ago, “Word from Westwatch. Lord Lannister has arrived with his men. There are fewer refugees at that end of the Wall, he’s splitting his forces and taking half to aid the Northern Lords setting up the encampments. Winter is fast approaching, and we need to house them, and get you Southerners back below the Neck before it sets in.”

Rhaenys sighed, “I will fly south to the Reach on the morrow. The Tyrells will donate more food to the Free Folk refugees, or I’ll have Greyjoy retrieve it by force.”

“Aye, your Grace,” Hoare chuckled, “Just mention us Iron Born to them flowers and they’ll wilt. We’ll need more than just food though,” the Lord Commander held out a shinny black dagger, “We need dragon glass, and lots of it. Lord Stark reported it’s as good as Valyrian steel against them ice devils.”

Visenya took the dagger and examined it, “We’ll send word to Dragonstone. You can’t walk the beaches without tripping over it.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Brandon Stark walked the wall of his childhood home for the first time in two years. Shortly after Aery’s last visit three years ago he had traveled to Barrowton to begin fostering with Lord Dustin. He and William had ridden to Winterfell to see Ned off. Now they were waiting for the arrival of Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident. The man had been granted the rare honor of visiting Winterfell. Rare because of the hassle of moving the Giants that tended to congregate around Winterfell so only a few were visible, and the fact everyone in Winterfell had to remember to not refer to Rickard as your Grace, and not refer to his children as princes and princess.

“Brandon,” he turned to see Tovar, a Free Folk runner. Runners served as postmen ferrying messages all across the North. They were less likely to be intercepted like a raven, and most people south of the Neck thought little of Free Folk. It also kept ones business out of the plotting hands of Maesters.

“Tovar, you don’t usually come to Winterfell.” Brandon shook the wildling’s hand, “What brings you up from the barrowlands?”

Tovar huffs, “You, Lady Ryswell, daughter of the high kneeler of the Rills writes to you heir of Stark.” He pulls a folded and sealed letter from a pouch on his belt, “She paid extra for me to hand deliver it.”

“Did she now?” Brandon smirked, “Don’t you barrowlands runners always hand deliver?”

A smirk crossed Tovar’s face, “Aye, but the fancy pants in the Rills don’t know that. Should have charged her extra for making me run through the Wolf’s Wood. My clan and the Wolf’s Woods runners aren’t exactly on friendly terms. Kissed by fire the lot of them.”

Brandon took the letter before pulling two silver stags from his pouch, “Here’s for getting it to me and a bit extra for your trouble. Tell the innkeeper at the Smoking Log I’ll cover you stay.”

“Appreciated my lord,” Tovar sighed, “You want me to wait on your response or if it pleases, I could get on my way home. My sister marries in a moon, and I’d like to make it back in time to punch the kneeler who thinks he’s worthy of her.”

Laughing Brandon waved him off, “Go, but speak with your sister before punching her groom. Where’s your clan camped?”

“Just north of the Moat,” Tovar grimaced, “Been camped there too long, too close to the Kingsroad and those swamps for my taste. Last time we camped there my cousin lost both his boys to fevers.”

“Then I suggest moving on or ask the castellan of Moat Cailin for admittance or access to their maester,” Brandon turned from the runner to begin reading the letter. He’d met Barbrey while riding across the Rills with William. She’d been with her brothers when they met. House Ryswell had welcomed them to their holdfast for an evening. Barbrey had been quite forward in her actions, insinuating herself into his conversations with her brothers. William’s father had assessed that Lord Ryswell had put his daughter up to seducing the Stark heir.

Brandon chuckled mirthlessly to himself, he had no desire to inherit the North. Not only because he was only nine, but because he wanted to be free to seek adventure. He’d even contemplated traveling to Essos to join the Company of the Rose, but Maester Walys informed him they would return him to Westeros without fail. He’d threatened to run away and join another sell sword company. Walys had merely raised his brow with a smirk. Then informed him that the Rose would find him, smash the company he’d joined and return him to Winterfell.

Scrutinizing the letter Brandon saw little that was not coached by Barbrey’s father. It suggested another visit once he’d returned to Barrowton. He’d accept the invitation if only to be polite. Looking up he spotted the banners of the Trout coming around the bend in the kingsroad. With a suffering sigh he turned to the courtyard below, “Banners on the road, open the gates.”

(The Wall – 4 AC)

Aegon landed at Castle Black as the gates creaked shut, the last refugees having passed through along with Torrhen. Sadly, he looked toward the now vacant tunnel obscured by the heavy gate, “The Thenns refused to abandon their valley. Their fool Magnar believes they can hold against the Others.”

Torrhen approached him, “We did all we could, you gave them what dragon glass your men had on them. Once this winter passes, we will go forth and seek out any survivors.”

A small spindly legged person with large eyes and small spiked antlers strapped to his forehead by vines approached, “Those of my kind who refused to leave may join with them, and any giants that remain may as well.”

“We’ll need to hold the Wall until spring however long that may be,” Torrhen turn to the creature, “Briar, can your people predict when spring will come?”

“Two years,” Briar smiled, “not long at all. You did something I thought impossible. You brought fear to beings that believe themselves gods. They will not pursue us; they will not throw themselves fruitlessly against the Wall.”

“They won’t reveal themselves to the rest of the realm of man in such a weakened state,” Aegon fumed, “They’ll scurry back to whatever frozen hell they come from to regroup and spawn more of the vile kind.” He turned to Torrhen, “We saw them, and many lords and men of the North saw them. No one who lives south of the Neck saw them save those who are sworn to the Night’s Watch. Even then if they were to carry such tales to the south they would not be believed.”

Torrhen paled, “In a century the events of this autumn will be forgotten.”

“Indeed,” Aegon move to sit on a barrel, “In two the Citadel will claim we were merely bolstering the available martial power of the North. Some lords in the south call you Torrhen Stark, the attack hound of the Iron Throne.”

“Unoriginal, I would think they’d at least call me your attack wolf,” Torrhen glowered as he sat next to his oath brother, “The dream you had before coming to Winterfell, this wasn’t the threat it meant was it.”

Aegon’s head dropped down, “No, the Others we fought were scouts, roving bands testing the strength of the Free Folk. I don’t believe they have the power to affect the length of winters. As it stands the Night’s Watch could have held against them for two years. Especially with aid from those loyal to you.”

Briar moved to stand before the two men, “Your people may forget in a century or two, but not us. I’m young, I still have five centuries before me. There are many of us here, and many of our kin still reside on the isle of faces.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll remember,” Torrhen sighed, “It’s that our descendants may not heed your words. My people in the North will never harm you, they are loyal to my family and as their King they will respect my word. Those people south of the Neck, the ones who slaughtered your people centuries ago. I have no voice to protect your people from their foolish ways.”

Aegon suddenly stood, “You may not brother, but I do.” Aegon moved to the center of the courtyard, “Listen up everyone present here.” People milling about the courtyard suddenly paused in their doings at the voice of the King of the Iron Throne, “You all here are my witnesses. As the King of the Seven Kingdoms I swear by the gods both old and new. No man shall knowingly raise hand or steel against those we call the Children of the Forest. Doing so shall go against the King’s peace, and the perpetrator may forfeit their life in turn if blood is drawn.”

Torrhen took note of many southern lords watching their King intently some making furtive glances towards any nearby Children who were curiously listening to the dragon lord. Torrhen returned his attention to Aegon as he continued, “When I return to King’s Landing, I shall remind the High Septon that I am not only the protector of the Faith of the Seven. I am King of the First Men as well as the Andals. I will not be lacking in my duties. Upon my return I will proclaim that every Lord Paramount replant a weirwood tree to serve as the heart tree of their god’s wood. If they do not have one they will be given a limited amount of time to prepare one.”

Deria stepped next to Torrhen, “Good thing we Martells are ahead of the trend. You should come see how our heart tree thrives my lord husband.”

“Deria?” Torrhen jumped in surprise, “What are you doing here?”

She quirked a brow at that, “My lord husband ran off to battle ice demons. At first, I thought it a ruse to get me to ask the crown for an annulment, or you were going to fake your death. Then I thought better of it, it was just a ploy to see if I would come even if I was not summoned.” She glanced towards a family of Free Folk huddled on a castle walkway, “Then I saw the people you were rescuing from certain death. I’d thought to join you, but the Lord Commander said you were already on your way back when we arrived.”

“These people’s fate would have been worse than death,” Torrhen turned to face her fully, “I am not unhappy to see you my lady wife. I do hope my sons gave you no trouble when you passed through Winterfell.”

“None my husband,” she smirked slyly, “They were most enthralled with the twins. A new brother and sister to join their pack.”

“Twins?” Torrhen shook his head, “You never sent word.”

Her smile turned into a full grin, “Oh, I did my love. The scroll is sitting on your desk gathering dust while you have been off playing who can kill more evil necromancer ice monsters with King Aegon and your merry band of Northmen.”

“Bran was supposed to forward anything important to Castle Black so it could be sent to me,” Torrhen groused, “I’ll be having words with him on shirking his duties.”

Deria sighed, “No, you won’t. You left that poor boy with only a decrepit old Maester and a simpleton steward to advise him. If I’d known the state of Winterfell I would have come much sooner. Also, dear, you have seven sons, eight now, but did you realize you named three of them Brandon.”

“Only the eldest is named Brandon,” Torrhen looked with confusion to his wife.

Aegon stepped up to the couple, “Your third son is named Brendon and your fifth is named Bran, which unless I’m mistaken is a common nickname for Brandon here in the North. I can see her point brother.”

Rolling her eyes Deria continued, “I only bring this up because while I named our daughter Rhaella to honor one of the Queens. I thought it wise to allow you to name our son, at least until I realized your penchant for naming your sons in various forms of Brandon.”

“We’ll discuss this once we’re back in Winterfell.” Torrhen noticed Aegon smiling mischievously, “What are you smiling about, your grace?”

“I was just thinking, Aegon Stark is a very strong name,” Aegon saw Torrhen’s glare but continued, “Though, if you wish to honor both my sister Viserys is the masculine of Visenya.”

Torrhen rubbed his brow in irritation, “Some days I wish I went with Snow to Essos.” Looking to the King of the Iron Throne he indicated Briar, “Could you please take him to meet the Children in the God’s Eye. I’d go but wouldn’t want the River Lords to think you’d called your attack dog to maul them.”

“Of course, brother, I’ll leave Visenya here to manage the southern nobles who’d responded to her summons. As soon as your sure the Others are not coming, she’ll send them away. I’ll take Rhaenys with me, she’s been pestering me about letting her meet them. It is not that I have forbade her, she has a dragon of her own that could easily escort her there.”

Torrhen and Deria watched as the King moved to speak with Briar before going to find his sister-wife.

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Brandon stood in the courtyard of Winterfell as Tully riders made their way through the portcullis. Five name days old Lyanna stood at his side clutching his cloak while Benjen fidgeted at her side. Old Nan stood behind Benjen and pinched his shoulder to get him to stand still. Turning to the parade of Knights, household guards, and free riders he spotted Brynden Tully enter, a wheelhouse behind him.

The Stark heir turned to his father when the older man sucked air through his teeth, “Tully must not appreciate our crisp Northern air. Hiding away with his daughter in that ridiculous contraption.”

He could only smirk in return, “Why did you even invite him here? Maester Walys pester you into it?”

“That grey rat does nothing but squeak about improving our relations to the south,” Rickard’s fist tightened, “the next time the Citadel sends us a Maester, he’d better have been born north of the Neck.”

Brandon nodded, the Citadel knew of the oath between Houses Targaryen, Stark, and Martell. Yet it wasn’t a topic they studied or tended to pass onto just any acolyte. Walys had only learned of the oath following his posting here, but his behavior signified he served more masters than the Lord of Winterfell. Those of the south always had their little games to play.

As the wheelhouse came to a halt before the Starks, Brynden dismounted and moved to the door. Hoster Tully was the first to emerge, a benign grimace on his face as he limped down the steps of the wheelhouse. His eldest daughter emerged second and descended with help from her uncle. The three Tullys approached.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Rickard waved a servant forward with bred and salt, “I hope you enjoy your visit.”

Hoster partook of the offerings, washing it down from a wineskin offered by his brother, “Thank you Lord Stark, its an honor to visit, its so rare anyone besides the King is granted passage through the Neck.”

“House Reed may be over exuberant in their duties,” Rickard chuckled, “Though, it has been even rarer for a Lord Paramount of the Trident to make such an offer to a Warden of the North. Especially one who so obviously ignores Aegon’s Word. Four years ago, I had to send giants past the Neck to protect the Children who tended your family’s god’s wood since Aegon planted that weirwood tree.”

“A regrettable incident Lord Stark,” Hoster sighed, “I have had words with my Septon, he was just, overwrought in his devotion. He is young and puts too much credence in the words of his elders. No blood was spilled, so could we please put this sordid affair behind us. I hope we can come to an understanding, to unite our two houses.”

Rickard held up a hand to halt his words, “I would discuss such things in a more private setting. As for now, my son will see to your men. My servants will show you to the rooms you may use during your stay. I do ask your men not to leave the walls after dusk or without speaking with my kennel master. Some of our dire wolves lacking partners are running loose in the wolf’s wood.” Rickard smirked, “I’m not sure how experienced your horses are at being stalked by such hunters.”

Brandon had to fight the urge to grin at his father’s words. No dire wolf was missing from the kennels, but it was better than some riverman riding into a giant encampment or stumbling into a heard of mammoths. The North prided itself on not flaunting their military strength.

“Understandable Lord Stark,” Holster looked to his daughter, “Um, if I might ask, where is your Sept?”

Choking on spit Brandon fought back the reflexive coughs to answer in his father’s stead, “There is no Sept here, the nearest one is in White Harbor.”

Lady Catelyn stepped forward, “That is fine, I have brought my own statuettes of the Seven. If you would permit me the use of the god’s wood, I could find a quite corner for my father, uncle, and myself to pray during our visit.”

“No need,” Rickard sighed, “Lord Manderly visits often, there’s a chamber off the great hall you can use. I do believe he left it set up upon his last visit, so for all intents and purposes it is a crude Sept. Save for the fact there is no septon to maintain it.”

Holster nodded, “Thank you Lord Stark, and thank Lord Manderly next he visits.”

Rickard nodded before turning to Winterfell, “Once you are settled Lord Tully, come find me in my solar. We can discuss you proposition then.”

“Of course,” with that Holster Tully and his daughter were ushered away by waiting servants.

William Dustin appeared at Brandon’s side, “So, that’s the Lord of Riverrun. Wonder why he was riding in the wheelhouse and not riding a horse?”

Brynden Tully approached the pair, “My brother twisted his leg while we were traveling through the Neck. The wheelhouse got stuck in mud, and while we were trying to get it loose, he stepped off the causeway and slipped in the swamp.”

With a nod William turned to Brandon, “Wonder if they encountered your brother on the way up?”

“Doubtful, my brother would have ridden down the king’s road, while the Tullys would pass through the Twins before setting foot on that road. Ned has also been gone a month. He’s already reached King’s Landing by now, barring any unforeseen obstacles.”

(Winterfell – 4 AC)

Brandon Stark, heir of Winterfell and the Crown of Winter watched his siblings as they scrutinized their new pack members. Father’s Dornish bride had left them on her way to meet their sire at the Wall. Brandon himself had only returned from Eastwatch a day ago. His brothers Rand and Brendon had beaten him home, both being relieved due to injuries received battling beyond the Wall.

Sitting in the Throne of Winter he didn’t see what was so special about the twins. Brendon and their sister who is now Lady Arryn were twins. He, Rand and Willas were the only single births their lady mother had. The youngest of their brothers were triplets. Bran, Abel, and Randyll no doubt attributed to the death of their mother but were not to blame.

“You are brooding brother,” Brandon looked to Willas, he’d held Winterfell in the absence of father and his three elder brothers, “You are thinking of which holdfasts to give the new little pups?”

Brandon stood from the throne, “That is up to father. Though, at this rate a couple of us will either need to join the watch or follow Uncle Brandon to Essos. What are thinking in the devious mind of yours?”

“I’m not devious brother, just because you can’t take a prank,” his elder brother’s glare told him to get on with it, “Well, you know how King Aegon sent Rand back because all he did was complain about how hot King’s Landing is. What if one of these little viper pups could fulfill the task of being the Stark in King’s Landing. They could start their very own cadet branch of the family.”

Rubbing his chin in thought Brandon nodded, “Aye, that could work. We could send any other children father and Princess Deria have to join the branch in King’s Landing. I’ll bring this up with father.”

“Speaking of father,” Willas smirked, “Should he and our dear step-mother have arrived by now?”

“They did,” Brandon glared, “Early this morning before you would deem it an appropriate hour to crawl out of your bed. They are in father’s chambers, and I for one am not going anywhere near that door until the Princess returns to Dorn.”

There was shuffling from Brandon’s other side and he turned to see Oberyn Sand, Deria’s bastard son. He was of age with the trio. The Princess had a paramour between her first husband and Torrhen Stark. Oberyn sighed, “That may be awhile. Mother plans to remain until, um, your father agrees to visit Sunspear again.”

Willas crossed his arms, “Oberyn, father treats you like the rest of us. Call him father, we’re all just one big happy family of wolves and vipers. Though, besides the viper wolf hybrids, you’re the only snake to follow your mother up here. When we going to meet the rest of our step-siblings?”

“Someone had to come to watch the twins,” Oberyn groused, “Mors wouldn’t let Mara come, she has taken to caring for the weir wood tree. It needs constant care to survive, but it is a hardy specimen and given time I believe it will adapt to Dorn’s harsh heat.”

Brandon and WIllas could only ponder this a moment before the doors to the great hall opened admitting their father and Princess Deria. Brandon was surprised how relaxed their father looked compared to the stoic warrior he had the past year fighting beyond the Wall. Willas brought voice to these thoughts as their sire approached, “Good day father, aren’t you looking refreshed. I’ve always said a bit of a lay in is good for the soul.”

Torrhen frowned at his middle son before turning to Brandon, “I am home, you stand relieved son.”

“Welcome home father, Winterfell is yours once more,” Brandon turned to Deria, “Princess, as Lady of Winterfell the castle is yours.”

Deria curtsied to her stepson before allowing him to give way to the throne. Torrhen sat while she stood to his left, Oberyn moving to give her space. Torrhen looked to the table where the trio stood watching a Dornish nursemaid feeding the twins. Rising his voice slightly he called to his sons, “Gather around you summer pups.”

His seven sons quickly moved to line up in front of him. Willas catching Oberyn by the shoulder and positioning him between him and Bran. The eldest spoke up, “All present accounted for father.”

“I have eyes Brandon, and you’re a man grown, no need to lot yourself in with these pups,” Torrhen indicated the space to his right. His eldest quickly moved to take the offered place.

“Hey, we’re men too,” Rand huffed, he was all of seven and ten name days. His hand was still wrapped where a wright had nearly bitten it in half.

“Aye, my son you fought like a man, even after loosing two fingers to that filthy creature,” Torrhen turned to Brendon who now sported a scar down the left side of his face barely missing his eye, “and you Brendon picking up fallen Lord Mormont’s ancestral sword to avenge him after your own shattered against that Other. I could not be prouder of the both of you.” Torrhen noticed the sword at Brendon’s hip, “You have not returned Longclaw to House Mormont?”

“I will father,” Brendon smiled, “once they arrive for the wedding, or did you forget Lord Mormont was to be my good father. My good brother will arrive in a few weeks with my new bride.”

Deria brightened at that, “A wedding,” she turned to Torrhen, “You failed to mention this.”

Torrhen sighed, “I’d failed to realize the date, Happy name day Brendon, you are a man grown today.”

“Thank you, father,” Brendon smirked, “I do hope you remember Lord Arryn and our dear sister will be arriving for the wedding. I do hope you remembered to arrange an appropriate gift for my dear sweet sister.”

“Do you think I would forget,” Torrhen glanced to Deria who rolled her eyes in response. He then turned to Brandon, “Did you happen to send a letter to King’s Landing about your brother’s pending marriage?”

Brandon nodded, “I did one better. I told Queen Visenya when I met her at Castle Black on my way home. She told me she’d relay a message to King Aegon and Queen Rhaenys, apparently they are the ones more incline to such celebrations, but I think I convinced her she should experience a Northern feast at least once.”

“You just want someone there who is as much a stick in the mud as you dear brother,” Willas chuckled from his place in the line.

“Willas, enough,” Torrhen growled at him, “We have other matters to attend. How is the resettling of the free folk progressing?”

Clearing his throat Willas became serious, “Most have settled into the Gift, the land is fertile and mostly untouched as the Night’s Watch has little time or compunction to farm. Lord Umber’s Maester has devised a new plow rigged to mammoths to till the land around Last Hearth. It is humorous seeing beings that make Umber look small.”

“More food is being brought into White Harbor from the Reach,” Bran stepped forward, “We’re rationing it in preparations for winter.”

Torrhen shook his head, “Don’t I have it on good authority this winter will be short. Spread it among the free folk and the smallfolk. I’ll treat with Lord Tyrell in regard to payment. Send word to my bannermen, tell them I am grateful for the loyalty they have shown in the past year and a half as we battled a foe, we thought long dead. The coming years will be a trying time as we and the free folk learn to coexist as we have not for thousands of years.”

Randyll spoke up, “So, they’re not going back beyond the wall?”

“They may come and go as they please,” Torrhen sighed, “As long as the Others are not lurking about that is. The gates of the Wall will remain shut during winter. Aegon and I agree on this policy. The Night’s Watch will also go through reforms. Aegon believes the watch was not meant to be a punishment, nor originally a lifetime commitment. To appease the Faith and the lords of the south it shall remain a punishment for murders and rapists. Yet, anyone else who wishes to join may pledge seven years to the Wall, with a possible second tour of duty after the first. The life of service will also remain, and only those who’ve sworn to the Wall their lives may hold position as officers. That was the Lord Commander’s only demand.”

“Does this not cheapen the Watch father,” Brandon frowned, “People only have to spend seven years there, will they even be that dedicated. Also, after their tour is up would they not just leave?”

Deria turned to him, “Seven years is a long time, three years shy of a decade. Many will go home, just to return to the Wall as the lives they left behind are not what they remembered. Any who do take a second tour will have been gone from their former homes for four and ten years, much will have changed in that time. They may return to find their family is gone, and what remains barely even remembers them. They will return to the Wall, to the only family they know. In fact, the next bit of restructuring may entice some to stay for life.”

It was Torrhen’s turn to roll his eyes, as this had been Deria’s suggestion and the Lord Commander had bit into it like a starving hound, “The members of the Night’s Watch who have sworn their life to the Wall may now take a wife and have children. They can still claim no lands or wealth, their families will be the responsibility of the Northern Crown. They must also remain faithful to their wives, as they are to father no bastards. Those who’ve pledged a term of seven will be paid a stipend that will be either held till the end of their term of service or paid annually to their kin.”

“This sounds very complex father,” Brendon frowned, “Is the Watch even capable of regulating all this?”

Torrhen grinned at his son, “No they are not, over half the members of the Watch are illiterate and even more are unable to count past the number of fingers and toes they currently have. The task of keeping records and accounting for pay will fall to the Stark in King’s Landing, with some assistance from the King of Winter.”

Rand gulped, “I’m going back to King’s Landing, aren’t I.”

Laughing Torrhen shook his head, “No Rand, I would not put either you or Aegon through that again.” He turned back to Brendon, “Your younger brother will assume the duties of the Stark in King’s Landing. The manse has been completed and you and your new wife will take up residence. When they are older your siblings Viserys and Rhaella join your household. This will be the beginning of a branch of our family, the first to ever reside south of the Neck.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Rickard Stark had put off discussing the true purpose of the Tully visit for several days. He’d spent two days discussing various trade deals between the North and the Riverlands that had not been revisited in many years. Holster seemed perturbed that Lord Stark was not coming straight to the point. Holster wanted his daughter to be the future Lady of Winterfell, a position that would grant an alliance between the North with the Riverlands. A feat not yet accomplished as the Starks rarely married outside of the North. The few occasions it did happen they either wed their cousins from King’s Landing or a Dornish House.

Brynden Tully had stood at his brother’s side as Rickard went through a litany of unrelated business. On the fifth day, as Maester Walys presented evidence that House Frey had been interfering in Northern trade, Holster finally snapped, “Lord Stark, I know it has been long since a Lord Paramount of the Trident and the Warden of the North have met, but can we not get to the actual reason for my visit. A betrothal between your heir and my daughter.”

“A betrothal?” Rickard showed no emotion as he thought it over, “As Lord Paramount of the Trident, you know the union between House Stark and any house below the Neck has to be brought before the Iron Throne for the King’s consent. The North is the largest of the seven kingdoms.”

Holster nodded, “I know and no one south of the Neck knows why House Stark is allied to House Targaryen, your houses have never had any unions. Though, there was that rumor Cregan Stark wanted a Targaryen princess for his son, in return for his support during the Dance.”

“I do not put much faith in rumors Lord Tully, and I would suggest neither should you,” Rickard’s eyes narrowed and Brynden was sure there was anger boiling within. Lord Stark stood from behind his desk, “What loyalty House Stark has for our King is between the Iron Throne and us, not something to be guessed at and whispered about behind ones back. If you wish to discuss a betrothal between Brandon and Catelyn. I would think, you wish there to be no looming animosity between our two Houses. You are the Lord Paramount of the Trident, as such you are responsible for the Houses that claim you to be their liege lord. Just as I am responsible for my bannermen. Now, the matter of discussion is Lord Frey and his toll tax.”

(Later Lord Tully’s guest chamber)

Brynden watched his brother pace the room, “What is Lord Stark playing at? How our my bannermen’s actions my responsibility. Even our father could not control Walder Frey when he was a boy and only had two sons. How am I supposed to force Frey to lower his toll fees, he is backed by the charter granted him by the Throne.”

“Actually,” Brynden groused, “He does overcharge, one of his sons married Lady Genna Lannister, sister to the Hand. So, unless the Lord Hand says otherwise, I doubt anyone could make him stop.” Indicating the door, the knight frowned, “Why go through with this? You know the likelihood of him agreeing to a betrothal are next to impossible.”

“You were away when they came,” Holster looked into the space before him, as he recalled a memory, “After Septon Dale tried to chase the Children from our god’s wood so he could cut down the weir wood. Lord Stark sent two giants to guard them. I never knew how he’d heard of the incident, but every lord in the Riverlands knew within a moon turn. The giants came, and the Children returned to the North with them as escorts. To have the power to command such beings. Only the strongest castle walls could stand up to them. With Catelyn as Lady of Winterfell she would have access to that power, she could sway her husband into granting it to us.”

Brynden strode to stand before his brother, “Have you gone mad? You desire the Starks to grant us the use of their giants?”

“Why not?” Holster focused on, “Which kingdom suffers the most during wars. The Dance, the war began in earnest on our soil. The Conquest, Aegon the Conqueror flew north and promised something to the Starks to ally with him. In return they marched on Harrenhal. When there is war in Westeros it is the Riverlands that burns.” Holster pointed towards the window, “If we had giants, we could make the Riverlands such a threat that the other kingdoms would avoid us while marching to war.”

Looking out the window Brynden thought he saw something watching them but quickly realized it was only an owl roosting, beneath the eave. Turning to his brother Brynden shook his head, “You’ve heard the Maesters brother. They believe there are no more than a dozen giants throughout the entirety of the North. Do you really think they’d allow any of them to be permeant residents of another kingdom?”

Holster fumed, “Once Catelyn is the Lady of Winterfell, she will make it so. These heathens, forcing us to allow those disgusting creatures to spread their blasphemous belief in tree gods. If Septon Dale had killed them I would have shaken his hand rewarded him.”

Frowning Brynden growled out, “Brother, you should watch your tongue. Do you forget were you are standing?”

“We are protected by guest rights brother,” Holster waved him off, “Besides, the Starks are too honorable to spy on their guests.”

Neither Tully was paying attention as the roosting owl shifted positions as two arms emerged and the figure stretched out into a short humanoid figure. With a distasteful glare at the window the Child of the Forest climbed over the eave to seek out the Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon Torrhen Stark had several sons and one daughter. For this story they are as follows.  
> -Brandon Stark (The Cold Wolf); an elderly Brandon Stark was the Lord of Winterfell during the early part of Jaehaerys I reign. This would be the same individual.  
> -Rand Stark (The Wild Wolf); Brandon's younger brother who looses part of his hand to a wright. Was the first Stark in King's Landing but was relieved of that position.  
> -Brendon Stark (The Scarred Wolf); Historically becomes the first Stark in King's Landing as Maesters tend to disregard his brother's time there.  
> -Lady Arryn nee Stark; Like in canon Visenya convinces Torrhen to wed her to the young Lord Arryn.  
> -Willas Stark (The Mummer Wolf); spends his life at Winterfell, never marries and never father's any sons. Has at least one natural daughter, joins the Night's Watch for life and become Lord Commander.  
> -Bran Stark (The Young Wolf); Eldest of the Stark triplets, he founds the Winter Wolves after marrying a wildling. His wife starts the custom of having Spear Wives guard Stark family members.  
> -Abel Stark (The Quiet Wolf); He eventually joins the Citadel. After Maegor executed three Maesters the Citadel sent him to become the new Grand Maester. He stole the Winter Crown for the Citadel.  
> -Randyll Stark (The Bloody Wolf); Randyll would leave for Essos and join the Company of the Rose. Reports of the battles he participated in would earn him his nickname.
> 
> Quick note on Holster's behavior. We know little of his character in canon outside of what his daughters and son state. Which is pretty extreme both ways as Catelyn seemed to put him on a pedestal, he forced Lysa to abort a pregnancy, and Edmure seemed to have some issues with him. I'm taking Catelyn's obvious piousness and ratcheting up times ten for Holster. Even though he's been raised with the symbols of the Old Gods all around him he's had some Septons who'd like nothing better to restart the Faith Militant and start purging Children of the Forest and weir wood trees.


	4. The North Remembers

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

The air of the god’s wood was crisp and clean, but something clung to it a sign of some unseen force at work. Catelyn repeated her mantra of cycling through prayers to the Seven as she made her way along the path. After a week at Winterfell she had only seen Brandon Stark a handful of times, and only spoke with him briefly while dancing at the welcoming feast. Her father had set her to get close to the heir of Winterfell, so his father would see them as a good match.

So far, she didn’t think that was possible. Brandon Stark would either while away his time in the training yard or would ride out to hunt with William Dustin and some other boys their age. She wasn’t sure what they were hunting as they never returned with any game. Entering the clearing of the heart tree she’d hoped to find Brandon alone. Her hopes were dashed as she found Brandon knelt before the tree in prayer with his younger siblings on either side of him. Standing between the Stark heir and the tree was a man clad entirely in green.

The Greenman saw her and spoke, “Lord Brandon, we have a visitor.”

Brandon and his siblings looked up at the Greenman before they followed the direction of his stare to her. His sister Lyanna was the first to speak, “What are you doing here?” The four name days old girl had a furious glint in her eye, “Papa said fish don’t worship the Old Gods.”

Catelyn’s lips thinned at that, it was common knowledge the other houses referred to members of House Tully as fist or trout. Bunching up her skirts more than she already had she stepped further into the clearing, “I had hoped to speak with Lord Brandon. Mayhap we could take a walk while your siblings finish-um, what are you doing?”

Standing Brandon indicated the Greenman, “Benjen had questions so father summoned Samwise here to answer them. We don’t have priests as the Faith does. The Greenman order is the closest we have. They’re soothsayers and dream interpreters. We can walk for a bit,” he turned to the Greenman, “I’ll not be too far.”

“Of course, my lord,” The Greenman’s eyes never left Catelyn, “Take your time, I’ll escort your brother and sister back to the keep.”

Catelyn was unnerved by the Greenman’s stare, it was only after Brandon thanked him and the man turned to the younger Starks that she realized why. He never blinked, only when he turned to Brandon’s siblings, he allowed his eyes lids to flick closed and open immediately. “Is something wrong my lady?”

With a start she turned to Brandon, “No, no-it is just that man. He was staring at me very intently.”

“Pay it no mind,” Brandon smirked, “He is a Greenman, their ways are strange to us as well. He most likely was not actually looking at you, but at something else. Possibly a memory of a green dream or a sign from the gods. He would say if it was truly important, or not it is hard to say.”

The pair began walking along a spiral path that wound through the trees back towards the entrance, “My lord, what were you and your siblings praying for if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Brandon stared ahead, “We were praying for our brother. Ned is currently in King’s Landing as ward to the King. His first message has yet to arrive, so we have not heard how the journey was nor how he finds the capital. We do not expect it of course for another week.”

“Another week?” Catelyn was surprised, she knew Ned was the family’s pet name for Eddard Stark, “It should not take this long for a raven to fly from King’s Landing to Winterfell.”

Brandon laughed, “No, of course not. In fact, father has already received two ravens from his Grace. The first a simple curtesy that Ned had arrived and settled in. His second was to inform us that Ned’s dire wolf attacked a poacher in the King’s Wood shortly after their arrival.”

“There are fewer dire wolves in the King’s Wood since the Starks in King’s Landing began declining.” Catelyn nodded, “It is not above consideration that poachers would become brazen. Was the wolf harmed?”

“Bathed against his will, took Ned’s entire detachment of Winter Wolves, Spear Wives, and the King’s Guard to do it,” Brandon’s brows raised, “I do believe His Grace was joking. Out all my family’s dire wolves, Night Fury has the most affinity for water.”

Catelyn allowed a small smile, “You believe his Grace would jest in a letter to your father?”

With a nod Brandon reached out to lift a limb that was hanging low, “Yes, my father and the King are well acquainted. I think his Grace has a running bet with Lord Baratheon on who can make my father crack a smile. Father said the three of them were fast friends during his time in the capital.”

“I had heard your father spent time in the south in his youth,” Catelyn was forced to pause her thought as her Uncle Brynden rushed towards them, “Uncle, what is wrong?”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed as Brynden caught his breath, “I am unsure, Lord Stark requested your father to meet him in his solar alone. The man who delivered the message suggested I collect you.”

“Who was it that made that suggestion?” Brandon stepped towards Brynden, “If you do not know his name just tell me anything you can remember.”

“I know not his name my lord,” Brynden sighed, “but he wore the regalia of one of your Winter Wolves. Right down to the wolf shaped helm.”

Brandon nodded, “I see, what was the mark on his right pauldron? Please sir, think carefully.”

Frowning the knight sighed, “It was a snowflake, half of one looked like a rising or setting sun on the horizon. Does it have meaning my lord?”

“More than you will ever know,” Brandon turned to Catelyn, “My apologies my lady, but it would be best if you accompany your uncle back to your chambers. I must go to my father, it has been a pleasure, and I am deeply saddened our walk was ended so abruptly.” With that Brandon turned towards the exit and departed quickly.

Catelyn turned to her uncle as Brandon vanished between the trees, “Uncle, we haven’t seen any Winter Wolves during our stay. Why has one appeared so suddenly?”

“Niece, the Winter Wolves have been all around us this entire time,” Brynden frowned, “Unlike southern knights the Winter Wolves only wear their armor while enacting their lord’s will. They are the only standing army in the North that we know of, made up of the second and third sons of noble families and small folk alike. No one knows their actual numbers, but many travelers have come across patrols roaming all the major roads. I had been curious how we never came upon a patrol on our way here.”

The eldest daughter of the Lord of Riverrun remembered what Brandon said of the Greenman’s stare, “Why has Lord Stark told them to ready themselves for battle? Are there wildlings on their way?”

Brynden himself was thinking of the owl roosting outside the window of his brother’s chambers. It was known wargs were employed by the northern lords as scouts and spies. Was that owl one of Lord Stark’s creatures keeping an eye on his guests? “I’m not sure Cat, but I believe our stay in Winterfell will indubitably be cut short.”

Leaving the god’s woods Brandon stopped in his tracks. William Dustin stood above the gate, flanked by two Winter Wolves. He was facing the yard and was listening to the wolf on his right as the man gave orders. That must have been one of the Cassel brothers, now fully armored in his roll as captain of the household guard. The guards were doubled, if not tripled. To Brandon it was more than slight overkill, it was meant to be a show of force.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned to see three women approach, each carrying a weir wood spear. The spears were double ended, one end tipped in steel while the other was adorned with a blade of dragon glass. The spear wives of House Stark. The eldest in the middle her hair grey and deep crows’ feet at her eyes, she is the leader of the spear wives, Matron Bess Cassel.

Bess smiled at him, “My prince, it is good you’re here. Your father requests your presence in his solar immediately.”

“What is going on Bess?” Brandon indicated the soldiers, “Are we at war?”

With a frown Bess shook her head, “Not yet, but it is not out of the question. It would be best if your father explained, the Snow Wolves are already gathered in the solar. Lord Tully is being kept waiting until your arrival.”

Brandon’s expression hardened at mention of the Snow Wolves, they were the elite protection detail of the Kings of Winter. They were considered the northern equivalent to the king’s guard. Though Snow was part of their title very few of them were bastards, most had accomplished some great dead that showed their skill. Unlike the king’s guard they were not knights. In fact, three of the current Snow Wolves were Free Folk.

Turning towards his father’s solar Brandon hurried at a brisk walk, taking no mind to the two spear wives that fell into step at his heels. As they approached the hall leading to the solar, he spotted Lord Tully. The man tried to halt him to speak, but Brandon had no time as his two guards peeled off to join the others congregating in the hall.

Crashing through the door he slammed it shut in his wake and turned to the men and two women occupying the chamber. It was Mad Jack the Giant Slayer who spoke first, “What’s the rush my prince, where’s the fire?”

“You tell me, we are garrisoned like a town besieged,” Brandon knew Mad Jack only by reputation. Jack was leader of a small Free Folk community that lived deep in the Wolf’s Wood, a rogue giant attacked them some years ago. Instead of fleeing like the more sensible members of his community Jack fought the crazed giant. How he won exactly is unknown, only that when the noise from the fight ended, he stood upon the corpse covered from head to toe in gore and laughing like a lunatic.

Jack rubbed his forehead where the sigil for the Snow Wolves was carved, most had it tattooed to their arm. Jack though more than lived up to his name. With a mad grin he answered, “Aren’t we always besieged my prince. Though, I think this time your father my beloved Magnar just wants us here for show. I mean this is the first time I’ve been summoned to the keep since my sigil was carved into my head.”

One of the women, another of the Free Folk members snorted, “You carved it there yourself Jack,” Verna was once Magnar of Thenn but passed the title on to her son and came south. She was the eldest of the Snow Wolves having served Brandon’s grandfather first. Like Jack she was rarely at Winterfell, as they both protected from afar. Verna was most often at the Wall leading the Winter Wolves who had the less than pleasant task of hunting down deserters.

Oleg Crack Shield stood behind Lord Rickard, the last of the Free Folk members he kept his mourning star resting in the crook of his arm while his eyes watched his fellow Snow Wolves bicker. Oleg never spoke, not that he could. The scars on his throat were the remnant of his battle with Ivar three skins. Ivar should have been called four skins, but no one knew he could warg with a flying squirrel. Oleg was named a member of the Snow Wolves following his recovery.

Ivar of house Norrey stood by the door. Ivar was the youngest of the Snow Wolves and was also called Ivar six skins. Brandon knew Ivar had no love for his wildling father and saw Oleg more of a father figure. Especially since Oleg married Ivar’s mother after killing the elder Ivar. Ivar had six animals he could warg and was always present at Winterfell to serve Rickard as his eyes and ears.

The remaining three members of the Snow Wolves were Talbot Umber, Mace Karstark, and Elbert Hornwood. All cadet members of their houses born and raised in Essos and sent to the North to fill vacancies within the Snow Wolves. They had all proven themselves in battle fighting for the Company of the Rose. They now stood ready to defend the King in the North if needed.

Rickard sighed, “Jack, Verna, enough. We have business to deal with. Helmets on and no talking, leave this matter to me and Brandon.” Brandon moved to stand on his father’s right, only then noticing the small figure crouched on the windowsill.

“Father,” Brandon’s eyes rose, “What is Mille doing here?”

“Milkweed was taking a nap under the eves as she is known to do,” Rickard chuckled, “Just so happens she was trying to nap outside the window to Lord Tully’s chambers. She heard something quite distressing and came straight to me. I doubt you’ve had the privilege of waking to one of them perched on your chest, slapping you awake at the hour of the wolf.”

“Cannot say that I have father,” Brandon glanced towards Milkweed, “Could it not have waited Mille?”

The Child blinked her large doe eyes, “No, bad man was gloating he would break Aegon’s Word. The Stark must be told so he could protect.”

“Lord Tully truly said he would break Aegon’s Word,” Brandon was surprised, no lord in two hundred years had openly defied Aegon’s Word. Well, at least none that lived to brag about it. Brandon turned to his father, “So, guess I will not be marrying Catelyn Tully then?”

Rickard frowned, “Like I would wed you to a fish. There are a hundred houses in the North. With Aerys desire to have your sister marry Rhaegar along with Elia Martell, we will need to strengthen our ties here. The Faith will not like that the prince will have two wives, they may even forget they are banned from taking up arms.”

Brandon made a realization, “So, the time of secrecy of the oath is coming to an end. Torrhen Stark knew this day would come. He feared it would destabilize the kingdom.”

“True,” Rickard shifted some papers before finding what he was looking for. Brandon noticed it was a letter of safe passage through the Neck, “He realized the other Lord Paramount would desire their own crowns and their own independence. We would return to the way things were before the Conquest. The power of the Iron Throne would be neutered by a bunch of bickering underkings. The only kingdom that should join the oath is the Iron Islands, they like us, and Dorn are much more culturally distinct from those of central Westeros.”

Brandon’s eyes widened at that, “Imagine an Iron Born with a crown and being welcomed to Winterfell, Sunspear, or King’s Landing as kin. Could we even trust them with such power?”

Rickard’s brow rose, “I only said they are the only ones who should, not that they actually should join us. I wouldn’t trust an Iron Born, besides the oath must be made before a weir wood and I doubt one could grow on those islands.”

(Iron Islands – 7 AC)

Vickon Greyjoy watched as the drowned men tended to the sapling. His son Goren at his side, “You never did tell me why you wanted that tree father. It cost me two ships and thirty men to acquire it and one of those Children of the Forest.”

“You paid the iron price son, where is the Child?” Vickon turned to his son.

Goren sighed, “Sleeping in mother’s chambers, I didn’t realize when I grabbed it, but it’s a woman and she’s with child. You think others will come to get them back?”

“As I requested you wielded no steel when you took her correct?” Vickon was not about to bring Aegon’s wrath down upon his head.

With a nod Goren pointed toward the sapling, “When we got to the Isle of Faces the guardians told us to leave our weapons on our ships. It was only after Higgs ripped that sapling out of the ground that the Children started attacking. We could only run like cravens.” Goren groused, “So what is so important about that tree?”

“You heard the King’s decree at the Wall my son,” Vickon frowned, “He only spared us because he thought it impossible to plant such a tree on our islands. I’ve heard the trees can adapt to the heat and dryness of Dorn. So, why can’t they adapt to the rocky soil here. We will not be looked down on because we lost the Riverlands.”

A few days later Goren stood in his father’s great hall as the Child of the Forest spoke, “The leaves have turned blue from the salt in the air and water, but the tree is growing stronger every day. The roots have spread deep and your priests have dug the pit to collect the sap as I have asked. I’ll carve the face in a year.”

Vickon nodded, “Good,” he turned to Goren, “Have we heard anything from King’s Landing?”

“No father,” Goren frowned, “I don’t think they have heard of what happened at the Isle of Faces.”

The Child tilted her head, “They would not have,” she smirked, “The Greenman and my people would not have told them. Your men who fell were given to the old gods and the waters of the god’s eye does not often give up its treasures. We know of your ways, as does the Aegon, you would not wish a tree given, but to take one.”

Goren faltered, “You knew I would take you from the Isle?”

The Child rubbed her stomach, “I did, as I knew my child would not be born on that Isle.”

A smile crept on Goren’s face as Vickon laughed, “You see son, the King is not a man without intelligence. He was not ignoring us; he merely knew our way.” The lord of the Iron Isles turned to the Child, “Let this weir wood tree be the first sign of our loyalty to the crown. Let our reavers be the tormentors of his enemies.”

(The Wall – 271)

Orrick Karstark stood above Queensgate, the castle he’d commanded since swearing his life to the wall. He watched the village on the north side of the wall. Queensgate village was the second largest of the villages nestled against the northern side of the Wall. Crow’s Town, opposite Castle Black was the largest. The villages had two purposes, the first was a gathering place for the various free folk who lived beyond the wall to trade and acquire supplies. The second purpose was to allow refuge against the eventual coming of winter.

Some of the free folk preferred to live in their ancestral home beyond the wall, and even with the many dangers of winter they refused to pass into the gift. After the great harrowing of the two-year winter early in Aegon the firsts reign the Night’s Watch was better prepared. At the first sign of autumn rangers would ride out to begin escorting the free folk back to the villages, once everyone was accounted for the villages sealed their gates and the watch began. The first inkling of an Other approaching a village, the entire population would be quickly be ushered through the Wall.

The last sighting had been over sixty years ago. Orrick had only been a young man then, still in the midst of his first seven years. Back then he’d been a ranger assigned to the Shadow Tower, after the report his fellow rangers were sent to scour the Haunted Forest. They put every corpse they found to the torch but found no trance any Others. Since then there had been not even a whisper of the ice demons, but he knew they were out there just waiting for them to drop their guard.

“What has the horizon done to offend husband?” turning Orrick couldn’t help smile at his wife, thirty years younger than himself, and fire-kissed, “What’s that look for, you send our daughters south to protect the Stark’s son, then don’t have the decency to come see the new son I just bore you?”

“Sorry my wife,” Orrick chuckled, “I’ve been thinking, autumn approaches and I should be sending my men out to gather those who’ve been afield.”

She nodded, “True, but there is still time, what bothers you really husband?”

“The Others have been far too quiet,” Orrick leant on the Wall, “I was a lad when last one was even seen, they have never been this quiet. We’ve gone three winters without a skirmish or even a wight wandering into a patrol. Some may assume we killed the last of them, but I can not believe we could have. Maegor burned a hundred of them and four thousand wights during his great ranging. His father Aegon and Torrhen Stark kill thirty each, and the men who accompanied them slew another fifteen. No one even tried to count the number of wights that were destroyed then.”

His wife wrapped her thin arms around one of his, “My stubborn crow, we fight them when they appear, we don’t ask them to do so. We rest and we prepare for winter. Now come, you have a son to meet and Lord Commander has given me permission to steal you from the Wall if I must.”

“Of course,” he turned towards the lift seeing a pledge shield standing there, “Ah, Kevan, you drew the day watch I see. I’ll be down in the village. Send a steward if anything comes up, they know where I’ll be.”

“Of course, sir,” Kevan Lannister nodded, “Are we expecting any trouble?”

Orrick laughed, “Autumn is nearing, the Thenn will be moving to their winter camp. There will be trouble a plenty once they arrive.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Holster Tully entered Rickard Stark’s solar unawares to what he would find. He’d seen a number of armored Winter Wolves enter the solar as he’d been kept waiting. Brandon Stark had rushed past him so quickly he’d thought the Stranger was biting at his heels. The way the heir of Winterfell had slammed the door behind him made Lord Tully contemplate what was going on. Winterfell looked like it was preparing for war.

Moments after Brandon had entered, he was ushered into the room. The seven Winter Wolves were arrayed around the room their wolf helms turned to focus on him. Brandon stood at his father’s shoulder his expression cold and distant. At this point Holster could see the similarities between father and son the clearest.

Rickard stood from behind his desk, “I will ask you this one question Lord Tully, and your response will reveal how this day ends. Will we walk from this room as friends with an understanding or will I have you and yours escorted from my walls. The way you answer my question will be known by the North, and my lord. The North remembers.”

“Lord Stark,” Holster sputtered, “I know not what this is about.”

“What this is about Lord Tully,” Rickard moved around his desk, so he and Holster were face to face, “Is Aegon’s Word. The promise of the first King of the Seven Kingdoms. A promise my house holds sacred and enforce at the behest of our King.” Rickard stepped closer, “What this is about my lord, is that you insinuated within my own walls that my family are slave masters. What this is about my lord, is that you mistake loyalty for control.”

Holster stepped back as Rickard raged, “How?”

“You are so arrogant you never even saw,” Rickard pointed to the window where a small doe eyed being sat. Holster paled as he saw the feathery cape and the way its hair resembled the top of an owl’s head, “She was in plain view of your window.”

“You had us spied on?” Holster was shocked.

Rickard fumed, “Spy on you? Do I look like one of you foolish southerners playing at your worthless game?” He quickly calmed, “My question to you Lord Tully is this. If your Septon had caused bodily harm or killed one of the Children that called your god’s wood home, what would you have done?”

The Lord of Riverrun knew better than to answer that question. With a glare at the creature at the window Holster turned to the door, “I am a man of faith Lord Stark. Faith in the Seven who are One. The Children of the Forest are an afront to my religion. They refuse to put aside their tree gods, they are heathen blasphemers the same as most of you northerners.”

Tully turned back to the Warden of the North as he spoke, “I respect the Faith as long as those who follow it respect my own. I have known many Septons who speak and act as you, and I have known many who discoursed with me with respect. I have refused to build a true sept here, as have my forefathers since the Andal invasion. I have many who live within these wall that make regular journeys to White Harbor to receive spiritual guidance from their own gods. Several keep statuettes as your daughter does. I follow the Old Gods, and if that makes me a heathen in your eyes, I wear that word as a badge of honor. I do not kill someone because they are an affront to my gods, I do not enslave another race because I view them as subhuman, I do not permit harm to those who have put their own faith in my hands. What I do is tear down men who think themselves my betters because of their faith, I do see justice done on those who break a sacred oath, I do command giants and wargs and am proud to call them my allies. I am the Stark in Winterfell my lord and you have angered the wrong wolf.” Rickard picked up a sheet of paper, “This will see you and your family safely from the North. Be past the Neck before the date specified or I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“Are you threatening me Lord Stark?” Tully was shocked, “I’m under guest rights.”

Rickard frowned, “I’m not threatening you Lord Tully, I’m giving you fair warning. As I said I did not send Milkweed to spy on you. She is free to do as she pleases, and because of guest rights I will cause you no harm. You have a long journey home, and you’ll find my bannermen less obliged to open their doors to you this time. The safe conduct will allow your brother and daughter to be treated fairly, but you will soon learn your welcome her has run out.”

(Later)

Brandon stood beside William as the Tully retinue disappeared around the bend, “Good riddance,” William spat over the wall, “Couldn’t stand them southern pounces. Your father was quite wroth with them, to rally the wolves like that.”

“He had good reason,” Brandon glared at the king’s road, “Lord Tully admitted he would happily break Aegon’s Word. What fool would dare say such in Winterfell?”

“Um, Brandon, my prince,” Dusting smirked, “You forget the fishes don’t know about that. They of course know about Aegon’s Word, but unlike Dornish and Northern houses they’re not aware of the fact your father is a King in his own right, just as the Princess of Dorn is a royal in her own right. We all kneel to the Dragon, but the Dire Wolf and the Sun’s Spears bow just a little less then rest of us.”

Brandon snorted, “I try kneeling before his Grace anywhere besides the throne room and he’ll be pulling me up by the collar and lecturing me that a crown prince kneels to no one save his own father. I get away with bowing of course but he gets this weird look and mutters that wolves don’t bow, its unseemly.”

“His Grace seems a hard man to please,” William laughed, “I’m not sorry I missed his last visit, and with Ned down south I doubt we’ll be expecting another visit from the High King any time soon.”

“I would think not,” Brandon sighed, “Come winter is coming and we should make plans to return to your father. We have lingered here in my home long enough.”

(The Wall – 271 AC)

Kevan Lannister hated having to interrupt the Commander’s time with his family, but the report was urgent. Knocking on the door it was answered by a young man with red hair wearing the leather armor of the Night’s Watch. Kevan recognized the eldest of Orrick’s sons, “Alvar, your father is needed.”

“Aye brother,” Alvar turned into the house, “Father, the Watch calls.”

Orrick appeared suddenly, “What’s wrong Lannister?”

“One of our patrols found something,” Kevan shook his head, “They were on the edge of the haunted forest when they saw two figures ride out and make way for the village. It was what the figures were riding that made them waylay them, they are awaiting your arrival.”

With a frown Orrick grabbed his cloak and sword from beside the door, “What were they riding?”

Kevan grimaced, “An ice spider.”

(Later)

Kevan rode beside Orrick as they approached the circle of men surrounding the ice spider. The fell beast was viciously protecting its riders who were now sheltered below it. Their horses started at the smell of the predatory beast but were well trained. Two of their black brothers were wargs and a cave bear and a shadowcat stood ready to tear the spider’s legs off.

Focusing on the two figures Kevan glared at the ice crystal sword the larger of the pair wielded, he was shielding the other figure. A smaller and slimmer cloaked figure clutching a bundle to their chest. He frowned as he made a realization, “Ser, the one in the back, I believe that is a woman clutching a child.”

Orrick nodded, “Aye, you two with the spider, show us your faces. I already know what you are, that sword could not be wielded by a man.”

The female slowly stood placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, she nodded before they both slowly pulled back their hoods. It took everything in Kevan to resist drawing his sword, the ethereal beauty, ice blue eyes, and snow-white skin had not been seen in over half a century. Standing before them were two, no three of the ancient enemy. Autumn had yet to set in and here stood the Others less than a mile from the Wall.

While Kevan had restrained himself his brothers we less so, they already had their weapons drawn. It was nearly instant the motion as two of the patrol with spears quickly flipped them so now dragon glass was pointed at the pair. Another pair kept the steel ends readied aimed at the spider. The rest of the patrol flipped their swords, so the dragon glass edge was readied to cut into the Others if they tried anything.

Orrick glanced towards the woods, “How many of you are out there? They think we wouldn’t harm a woman and her babe? How many women and children have you fiends slaughtered over the millennia?”

The male Other glared putting his arm up to shield the woman, trying to keep his sword pointed at the closest man. Kevan frowned, “Commander, do they even understand us? Can they even speak our language?”

“I know the common tongue,” the woman spoke her eyes cast to the ground, “I beg you, let us shelter behind the walls of that village. Our pursers will not venture so close to a place that sings the death of our kind.”

Orrick glared, “What of him?”

“He is my protector, my knight, the father of my child,” She placed a hand on his shoulder and he slowly lowered his blade, “He understands your words but cannot speak them yet. Please, Watcher on the Wall, we are too close to the forest, one brazen enough may think he could overcome your men to get to me.”

“Very well,” Orrick indicated the spider, “I will not allow that into the village. The first sign either of you intend harm I’ll have you all put to the sword.”

She bowed her head, “Thank you watcher.” The ice sword melted as the male Other turned to the spider. Reluctantly the spider leapt over the men who had circled behind and scurried into the forest. The female began walking towards the village as the patrol mounted and rode around the Others.

Kevan glared at the pair as he spoke, “Why allow them into the village Commander? They are a threat to all who live.”

“Because she humbled herself,” Orrick frowned, “Are you not a knight Lord Kevan?”

“Aye,” Kevan was confused.

Orrick indicated the forest behind them, “She said the Others were pursuing them and after her. Is it not a knight’s duty to protect those in need?”

Kevan sputtered, “I would put my sword between any danger and an innocent. I would stand between any man who would dare harm one of the Children of the Forest. I would even provide aid to a giant in the unlikely event that such were required of me. I pledged seven years of my life to the Wall to get out of my brother’s shadow. I don’t intend to be a member of the second Night King’s court.”

“You’ve been listening to too many nursemaid tales my Lord,” Orrick chuckled, “The bride of the Night’s King was not one of them,” he indicated the Others, “Orrick shook his head, in fact this is the first time I’ve even heard of one of their women being seen this far south. We knew of they must exist of course, otherwise they would be extinct by now.”

Once within the village gate and it was secure Kevan noticed the two Others relax their posture. The man took the child from the woman as she turned back to them, “Thank you Watcher, we have traveled endlessly to escape my uncle. His followers dogging us relentlessly. Even the Endless Watcher could not dissuade them.”

“The Endless Watcher?” Kevan frowned, “I’ve encountered him before, I thought him a myth before that.”

Orrick nodded, “The free folk call him Coldhands. A remnant of the old Watch before Aegon’s reforms. He and I are both lifelong brothers of the Watch, but he’ll be still tending his watch long after mine has ended. I’m surprised he would let you pass.”

“He knew we are no threat,” Raising her hand a gentle snow began falling, “I am a daughter of the God of Winter, and practice magic of ice and frost. I detest the necromantic arts some of my people have taken to. The Others as you call us, a basic name that it is. My uncle wallows in death and misery, we are a dying people and he belays that fate but taking that which is not meant for him.” She indicated her child, “My son is the first in a millennium, a new spring for my people. My uncle would take his life to extend his, as he does to the babes of humans he gathers.”

Kevan frowned, “So you have come to us for protection? Are there not others of your kind of a like mind?”

Her brow rose slightly, “Fewer now than there once was. My uncle usurped my father’s title nigh three centuries ago. Those being sent south to scout have been those who were loyal to my father. As you well know few who have come south have ever returned north to our lands. Those few who have are punished for perceived failure, as they dare to flee before man and Child.”

“They could not speak our language,” Kevan shook his head, “They resorted to their necromancy out of fear. First from the Children, Giants, and Free Folk. Then when Torrhen Stark and Aegon began slaughtering them.”

“Misunderstandings are the root of many wars Lord Kevan,” Orrick sighed, “How is it you are able to speak our language?”

She smiled, “There is a place, a hollow below one of the gods’ trees. There a seer watches, guarded by a handful of the Children. I and my knight were permitted through his barrier because we have not used necromancy. It taints one and corrupts you to the very core. We were allowed to rest there for a time, thanks to you watchers dispatching the scout that was first sent to find us.”

Kevan frowned, “The scout that was slain over sixty years ago?”

“Yes,” she indicated her child, “I was still baring him within me then, it was only after his birth a few moons ago that we decided it best we continue on.”

Orrick coughed, “These are the kind of questions best left to a maester. Lord Kevan let’s see about accommodating our guests.”

The Others shared a look before the male spoke his words broken, “The Stark, the King of Winter, the Builder, he provided for us. The Snowgate, home to House Whitewalker.”

Kevan looked confused, “Snowgate? Wasn’t that the old name of our castle?”

“Aye,” Orrick frowned, “and House Whitewalker hasn’t been spoken of in six thousand years. They vanished around the time the last sightings of the Others had occurred before the years following the Conquest. They were the only noble house in the North that claimed a castle on the Wall.”

The male other cocked his head and frowned, “Not vanish, sleep. Great magic, inside Wall. Many needed to make foundation strong.”

Orrick and Kevan both paled in realization. House Whitewalker wasn’t a noble house. It was an honorary title given to Others who aided in building the Wall. Kevan realized the woman was giving them a hint when she demonstrated her magic and claimed she used ice and frost.

Another story came to Kevan, “The Horn of Winter?”

The Others smiled, the male revealed a simple war horn decorated in runes, “Will wake sleepers if fell God of Winter comes.”

Kevan paled, “You could bring down the Wall.”

“No,” the woman glared, “The horn will only awaken the sleepers within the wall. They will emerge on the northern side to battle our fell kin. Those who sleep have sworn to never use necromancy. To never rise a wight so long as they draw breath. In their sleep they will never allow one who uses necromancy to pass nor a wight.”

It was these words that brought realization to the members of the Night’s Watch, without the White Walkers within the wall the others would not have been kept at bay. Orrick had one last question, “Why wasn’t the horn left with the Watch?”

“It was,” the male answered, “The Seer knew we would need it to prove ourselves friend, not foe. He sent Child to retrieve it from the Black Castle.”

The woman placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, “You are doing much better my love. It gets easier with practice. She took the horn and handed it to Orrick, “We will mold a suitable residence near the Wall.”

As the group approached the wall shimmered and a pulse of light shot out along its surface. Once they arrived at the base, they were surprised to find a figure standing alone watching them approach. They had been observed by the villagers on their trek, but this was different. The figure was short, a boy no older than twelve name days by Kevan’s estimate.

The boy stretched his shoulders like they were stiff. The boy wore all black, a black hood obscuring his face from view, “Well met daughter of the false god.”

“Who are you lad?” Orrick stopped their approach.

The boy pulled his hood down revealing he too was an Other, “The builder gave me the name Adam. Adam Whitewalker, I was his squire during the war against the false god. When the wall was devised my father was named Lord of House Whitewalker in honor of his sacrifice to build the foundation. The rest dream to strengthen the wall and prevent our fell kin from passing.”

Orrick looked to the horn, “How are you awake now?”

“We are so happy the Watchers remember to live; it makes the dream so much more bearable when surrounded by life and joy. Fear, anger and despair make it a nightmare and burden. We felt our kin approach, and were curious, they are not tainted by the scourge of necromancy. We thought of ourselves of the last of the pure ones, the last of those not corrupted by the false god.” The boy cocked his head, “but you are a daughter of the false god’s heir. How are you not tainted?”

The female bowed her head, “Well met cousin, my mother was sister to yours. She and my father swore to not follow my grandsires path. They forswore necromancy, as did my siblings and me. Since the raising of the Wall many of our people followed my father’s path, but my Uncle has renewed his father’s war. If there are others like me in the north, I know no. My knight is the last of his order, his brothers sacrificed their lives so we might escape.”

Adam nodded, “I see, so it will be war.” He turned to Orrick, “Watcher, let the King of Winter know, the fell ones will come. When it is time call upon us.”

“You are returning to the dream cousin?” the female looked worried, “Could you not remain awake?”

Adam smiled, “I must return to the dream to inform the rest of what I’ve learned. I’ll return when the first winter snow falls upon the Wall. Until then I leave you in the care of the Watchers. They are men of honor.”

The group watched the boy seemingly melt into the Wall. Kevan swallowed hard before speaking, “I’m thankful I’m not the one sending word to Lord Commander about all this.”

Orrick turned to the two he was now calling White Walkers in his head, “How long do we have? If it is to be war, will it be this winter or a winter a hundred years from now?”

“I know now,” the woman smiled sadly, “Time is not a concept that is equal between the races. We are beings tied to the seasons; we count them not their length. How many winters have you seen? I have seen more. I was a babe learning to crawl when the Wall was raised. We are not immortal as your people think of it, but we live millions of your years. My father was ancient when he was slain by his own brother. My uncle may choose to attack this coming winter, or he may wait until he has created more of our kind.”

“You said your son was the first in a thousand years?” Kevan questioned.

She nodded, “The first born, the first truly of our people. Through other foul necromantic arts my uncle can transform newborn humans into twisted facsimiles of our people. They are always male, as the arts would prevent a transformed girl from baring children. These twisted creatures father more like themselves on the few womenfolk that remain of my people.”

Kevan became ill as a rumor came to mind, “Sir, Craster?”

“Aye, I’ll send word to Lord Commander,” Orrick grimaced, “We’ll see him brought before the King for this.”

Both men turned at a resounding groan from the Wall, a small structure of ice had formed. The two White Walkers seemed pleased by the structure. The male turned to them, “My sword belongs to the King of Winter.”

“There is no King of Winter,” Kevan spoke up, “Torrhen Stark submitted to the Iron Throne nearly three centuries ago.”

Orrick snorted, “Says who, you’ve been at the Wall for three years Lannister. Who do you think signs off on your stipend? Everyone one, even you pledge shields know the truth. We just expect you lot to keep it to yourselves once you return south.”

Kevan’s jaw dropped, “I thought that was just a rumor.”

Shaking his head Orrick placed a hand on Kevan’s shoulder, “Come, I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk.” He turned to his patrolmen, “You lot, half of you keep guard on these two. The rest go take a load off and send some of our brothers to replace the ones left here.” He looked to the crowd gathered a safe distance away, “and someone with swift legs go get my Maester I have letters that won’t write and send themselves.”

They watched a gaggle of boys sprint off towards the gate as they moved off toward the village inn.


	5. Chapter 5

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Eddard Stark sat in the King’s solar as the King reread the letters from his father and the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. The sudden appearance of Others, and their request for sanctuary were unsettling. The fact Commander Orrick Karstark hadn’t just disposed of them immediately was also concerning. Eddard looked to where Night Fury lay contently chewing a bone next to the hearth.

Aerys finally seemed to finish mulling over the letters, “I’m sure your father can handle this matter without my involvement. He’s preparing defenses and readying the North for winter. We must do much the same here, I’ll ask you to lend Ser Gerold your dire wolf so he might clean up the King’s Woods of poachers. The villages have enough trouble without outlaws stealing their food.”

“Plus, the loss in revenue the licenses we grant to huntsmen bring in,” the Master of Coin sat next to the hearth, his eyes watching the dire wolf warily, “Lord Hand mind if we change seats?”

A smirk grew on Tywin’s face from his seat next to Aerys desk, “I’m quite comfortable here, besides the wolf likes you better.”

Lord Chelsted frowned, “The feeling is not mutual my Lord Hand.” The master of coin turned to Eddard, “Does he truly need to be here?”

Aerys held up the letter, “Lord Stark sends all correspondence in the Old Tongue. I need young Eddard to translate it for me, my mastery of that language is not what it once was.”

No one in the room except for Ned and Aerys knew the content of the two letters. Rickard as always wrote in the runic fashion of the First Men. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch normally would use the common tongue to make requests of the Iron Throne or pass along anything he believed needed to be mentioned. This time he had followed Ned’s father’s tactic for passing sensitive information.

Aerys turned to him, “Eddard would you be opposed to lending Night Fury?”

“No, your Grace,” Ned smiled, “In fact I think he will appreciate the exercise. He’s been cooped up since handling that poacher.”

“Good, good,” Aerys turned to Ser Gerold, “I want the woods cleared of poachers before Rickard sends word of the first winter snows.” He then turned to Lord Staunton, “Send some of the city watch to assist, they will bring the poachers back to the keep so we may properly punish them. At least those Night Fury leaves for us to.”

Lord Staunton chuckled, “I’ll have everything prepared your Grace, in fact the last poacher the wolf brought us is finally fit for trial. My judges are ready, it’s been a while since we got to judicate for someone causing harm to a dire wolf.”

Staunton was sitting on Night Fury’s other side and with more bravery then most reached down to pat the wolf’s head. The wolf mostly ignored him too content with his bone. Ser Gerold stepped forward, “Lord Stark, I’d also request two of your spear wives to serve as scouts. The Karstark sisters are both trained as such, are they not?”

“Aye Ser, they are,” Eddard grinned, “they’ll enjoy a trip out of the city life in Queensgate is much quieter than here in King’s Landing. I’ll have the Widow send them to meet with you at the gate.” Eddard turned to Night Fury, “Go with Ser Gerold.”

Dropping the bone Night Fury stood, looked towards Gerold before moving to the door to await the knight. With a stiff nod to Eddard and his king the Lord Commander departed with the wolf, Ser Barristan making his presence at the door known before closing it. 

Once they were gone Tywin spoke up, “If that is all your Grace, the small council will see ourselves back to our chamber to continue doing the work of running the realm. I’ll have everything ready for our meeting this evening, your family are still planning to dine with me before I depart on the morrow.”

“Of course, Tywin,” Aerys snickered, “we could not see you off without a proper send off. I’m sure Joanna and your twins will be glad to see you return. Who have you selected to handle your duties here while you are away?”

Tywin’s brow rose, “I plan to be gone only a couple moons, I thought his grace the crown prince could stand in my stead. He is only two years from majority, and it would behoove him to get some experience in governance.”

Aerys nodded, “Aye, that could be arranged.” He turned to Eddard, “You will sit in small council session as well Ned. One day you will have to help your brother run the North. We both know Brandon is far more interested in swords and adventure than ruling.”

“As you say your Grace,” Eddard stood, “Do you wish me to inform Rhaegar?”

Aerys nodded, “Yes, then tell him we will be dining with the Lord Hand this evening. You will be there as well so select one or two of your guards to be present. Not one of your spear wives though, don’t want Tywin’s men to get distracted.”

Tywin frowned, “I’m sure my men know better. I thought they only took the title spear wife because they are wed?”

Turning to the Hand Eddard shook his head, “That’s only if they were originally Winter Wolves my lord. Many Free Folk enter my family’s service without first joining the wolves. If they become guards the matron may select them to be spear wives, they are the personal guards to nobles throughout the North.”

“Every noble house has them?” Tywin was surprised.

“To a certain extent,” Eddard explained, “The women of House Mormont are unofficially called spear wives and have been known to carry the spears ceremoniously carried by women of that title. Though, the she-bears are noted to prefer the mace as weapon of choice. Marta and Hela Karstark of my own guard are also unwed, though they are betrothed to two of my Winter Wolves.”

Tywin nodded, “Will we need to make arrangements for their weddings?”

Aerys laughed, “That’s nothing to worry yourself about Lord Hand. Ned will see to it when the time comes, I’ve already granted them the use of the gods wood. Though they are Karstarks they are from a cadet branch from the Wall. It will be a small private affair; the north men will not wish southern interference.”

“I see your Grace,” Tywin stood as did the rest of the small council, “Until this evening your Grace, my lord.” Tywin led the small council out. Barristan closed the door behind them but opened it quickly after to admit Rhaegar.

The prince bowed to his father, “Is all well father, I missed Ned at our afternoon lessons.”

“All is well son,” Aerys fumed, “All save we have all been played for fools.” The king indicated the letters, “Aegon and Torrhen acted swiftly to defend the realm of men, but so swiftly they did not consider every outcome. Now two Others cower beneath the Wall under the protection of the Night’s Watch. They bring tales of death and impending war.”

“War?” Rhaegar turned to Eddard, “What has happened?”

Eddard spoke, “Apparently the two Others and their child requested sanctuary at Queensgate. In doing so they inadvertently awoke one of the White Walkers sleeping within the Wall. It is their magic that allowed the construction of the Wall and imbued it with the power to keep the Others from passing.”

“White Walkers?” Confusion crossed the prince’s face, “Isn’t that another name for the Others?”

“Yes,” Aerys hissed, “but one we’ll use to differentiate the ones who sided with Brandon the Builder and the ones who wish to slaughter us all. The White Walkers seem to abhor the necromantic practices of the rest of their race. I’ve requested the Citadel to send Maesters to question our new guests at the Wall. They will report to me their findings, and perhaps we can better prepare for what is to come."

Rhaegar glanced towards the door, “You haven’t brought this up with the Lord Hand, have you father?”

“The man only acknowledges what he can see,” Aerys chuckled darkly, “If the Children weren’t crawling all over the kingdoms, he would claim they were as real as snarks and grumkins.” Aerys turned to Eddard, “Snarks and grumkins don’t exist right?”

Eddard smirked, “According to my sources they both died out during the Long Night. Even the Children and giants haven’t seen either since the building of the Wall. Meaning if there were any left they would have to be somewhere here in the south.”

Rhaegar’s brows rose at that, “Such a pleasant thought.” Turning to his father the prince frowned, “We will have to move cautiously. I’ll make suggestions to the Tyrells to begin more open trade with the North. Have you received word on Lord Tully’s meeting with Ned’s father?”

Aerys smirked before speaking to Eddard, “Would you like to tell him, or should I?”

Eddard shook his head, “Lord Tully was asked very nicely to leave Winterfell after only five days of negotiations. From my father’s missive it was heavily implied their trip out of the North was far less pleasant than their journey to Winterfell.”

“In other words,” Aerys picked up, “Brandon Stark will not be marrying a stinking fish. Tully is also lucky I don’t strip him of his titles and lands. His goal for the alliance was to get his daughter to convince Brandon to send giants into the Riverlands to serve House Tully. The fool thinks House Stark actually commands giants; what idiocy has infected that man. Not to mention he flaunted Aegon’s Word within the very home of the northern crown. He’s lucky Rickard didn’t take his head.”

“I’m guessing guest rights,” Rhaegar turned back to Eddard, “Come Ned, we can get a spar in before we must prepare for dinner. You will be joining us at the Hand’s table correct?”

“Of course, my prince,” Eddard frowned, “I have a feeling Lord Lannister has more questions for me he would not wish to breach in front of the small council. He’s been uncharacteristically pleasant with me since sending his squire to antagonize my wolf.”

(King’s Landing – 10 AC)

Rhaenys hummed a song as she walked up to the manse of Brendon Stark. Her three name-days old son tottering along at her side. She was due to leave for the North to visit Torrhen on an annual progress, she’d tour the North and await Aegon coming to get her. They’d then tour the Westerlands, Riverlands, and Vale before returning to King’s Landing. Then Aegon would head to Dorn to retrieve Visenya and they’d tour the Reach, Stormlands, and Iron Isles before returning as well.

Overall, they would be gone for about six months. Aegon would have their brother Orys Baratheon would step up to rule the city until Rhaenys herself returned in approximately three months. For that time Aegon also desired Aenys to remain under the protection of Brendon’s household.

“Mama, why couldn’t I stay with uncle?” Aenys looked up with his bleary eyes. He’d always been a sickly boy, Visenya vocal about the likelihood he would make it to adulthood.

With a smile the Queen glanced back at the guards trailing in their wake, “Your father thinks Uncle Orys needs to focus on his duties as Hand right now. Brendon and his household have plenty of time to see you are well while we are away.”

Aenys glanced to the pack of dire wolves scattered about the front of the manse. Brendon’s own was not present, but Rhaenys had no doubts it was with him in his solar. As they entered the contingent of guards halted at there as men in wolf helms stepped forward to take their place. “There are a lot of wolves here.”

“Yes, and they will protect you well,” Rhaenys smiled as Brendon’s wife stepped out of the manse, two boys close to Aenys age on either side of her, “Lady Stark, are we early?”

Alissa Stark, formerly Mormont, smirked, “Only a bit your Grace. Brendon is finalizing the annual payments for the pledge shields. He will join us once he is finished.”

With a nod the Queen turned to the boys, “Why don’t you three runs along and play, we adults have business to discuss.”

Roland Stark, the elder of the two brothers motioned to Aenys and the three princes headed inside. Rhaenys smiled at her son encouragingly when he hesitated and looked back to her. Once they had vanished within Alissa sighed, “He will be fine here your Grace. Roland and Rodrick are good boys.”

“They are Starks,” Rhaenys smirked, “If they were not, I do believe Torrhen would disinherit them. Now, tell me of the North, it has been far too long since I have visited.”

“It has? Yes, I do believe the last time you went North was my and Brendon’s wedding,” Alissa hummed as she took Rhaenys by the arm and led her into the manse, stopping within a sitting room, “Torrhen is still on the throne of course, but Brandon has taken over much of the actual ruling. Rand will not be present during your visit; he is currently in Dorn at Princess Deria’s request.”

Rhaenys blinked at that, “If he thought King’s Landing to warm, I doubt he will survive Dorn. Is it known why she requested his presence?”

“No, only Torrhen, Brandon, and Rand know the contents of her letter,” Alissa frowned, “He stopped only briefly on his way there and refused to reveal why he was summoned.”

“I see,” the Queen smiled softly, “I will inform Visenya, mayhap she will learn the reason during her visit.”

Alissa nodded, “Mayhap. As you know Willas joined the Night’s Watch. He has taken a lifetime vow; you know the reason behind that of course.”

A grim look crossed the Queen’s face. At Brendon’s wedding Willas had become quite vocal about his displeasure at the Targaryen Stark alliance. He had imbibed far too much and had denounced the Oath between the two houses and even spoke out against Aegon. He was not against the multiple wives so much as the fact Aegon had wedded and bedded his own sisters. Before Aegon could react Torrhen had grabbed his son by the neck and physically removed him from the hall. Willas had apologized to Aegon and his queens the next morning, but even Aegon knew it was not genuine.

“Torrhen was going to exile him to join Brandon Snow in Essos,” Alissa continued, “but Willas requested permission to join the Night’s Watch instead. Once he came of age, he departed Winterfell for the Wall.” Alissa paused before moving on to her husband’s youngest brothers, “As for the trio, you know Bran has married one of the free folks who settled near Winterfell. They have finished rebuilding Moat Cailin and Bran will be basing his Winter Wolves from there. His wife has been proposing an organization for free folk women who wish to serve. Torrhen has yet to decide on that though. Abel arrived in Oldtown a couple moons ago, he joined the Citadel.”

“Abel?” Rhaenys was curious, “I knew he was very fond of books, but to become a Maester, I never expected that.”

Alissa nodded, “Neither did the rest of the family. He told his father he was planning to visit Deria and the twins. Instead a moon after he left, we all received letters from him with his true intentions. We knew he was closest with Willas; we did not think he would abandon his duties to the North because his brother was punished.”

“What of Randyll?” Rhaenys remembered her first visit to Winterfell after the Conquest. Brandon Snow was preparing to depart for Essos and the youngest Stark at the time was adamant his uncle should stay.

“Essos,” Alissa deadpanned, “The day Willas was sent to the Wall. Randyll questioned his father for punishing Willas, said Torrhen was siding with the Dragons over his own pack. We weren’t there of course but Brandon’s letter told us all we needed to hear. There was an argument, and Bran was forced to pull his steel in their father’s defense. Randyll was sent to White Harbor that day and went to Essos a moon later.”

Rhaenys sighed as Alissa poured them each a drink, “House Stark must not be divided, we must restore their unity.”

With a smirk Alissa shook her head, “We should not interfere your Grace. Torrhen will handle matters, besides, given time their tempers will cool, and all will be right again. My good-brother and his wife are expecting a child soon.”

Smiling at the new Rhaenys turned at the sound of the door opening to admit Brendon Stark. The third son of Torrhen had allowed his beard to grow out, and though he was still much younger than her grey was already starting to appear around his ears. Weary eyes scrutinized her, “My Queen, I was expecting your sister.”

“Visenya will be going to Dorn this year,” Rhaenys placed her hands in her lap, “I felt I’ve been remiss in not going North.”

Brendon frowned, “I see, what is the true reason?”

A grim smile crossed Rhaenys face, “Some nights ago I had a nightmare. I was flying over the sands of Dorn towards Hellholt, but suddenly I felt Meraxes flail in pain, and then we were falling. Most dreams like that you’d wake before you hit the ground, but I did not. I awoke to my legs crushed beneath Meraxes neck, then men were upon me dragging me away into darkness.” Rhaenys swallowed hard before continuing, “I awoke for real then, the rest of the dream forgotten, but I know it was too horrible to be real.”

Moving to sit beside the Queen, Alissa took her hands into her own, “It was only a dream your Grace.”

“I am not so sure,” the two women looked to Brendon, “Father once told me his Grace had a dream of such horror before coming to discuss allying our two houses. The Oath was the results of that discussion. Much has happened in the last ten years since that day. Perhaps this is why my stepmother summoned my brother,” Brendon crossed his arms, “Deria and her son may not be able to act without suspicion from the other houses of Dorn. Even in the North there are some houses that are unhappy with the state of things. The Umbers do not see why they should bow to a King this far away and the Boltons are happy to insinuate that we Starks are bowing to the Dragons out of fear.”

Rhaenys glared at that, “Never has a Stark been forced to kneel or bow to us, and the Umbers only need to bow to us if they are in our part of the kingdom. Torrhen is their king, and anyone who speaks against him will gain the ire of the Dragons.”

Smirking Brendon swallowed a laugh, “You do not have to lecture me on that auntie,” Alissa and Rhaenys rolled their eyes at that, “Just try and ingratiate yourself to the other Northern lords. Visenya has quelled them all in her own way, but her way is not yours. Many believe that naïve childlike persona you beguiled them with is your true self. Let them see the warrior you truly are. Join them on hunts and spar with them as well. Let them regale you with their tales of valor and whatever petty accomplishment they have done. Then reciprocate with tales of your own.”

“Would that not be the way my sister quelled them?” Rhaenys was confused.

Both Brendon and Alissa shared a wide-eyed look. Brendon fake coughed before answering, “Um, her Grace’s method was a bit less tactful. Queen Visenya flew Vhagar to each castle, promptly landed within the courtyard talked to the lord briefly before returning to Winterfell and secluding herself into one of the warmer guest rooms.”

“I do believe her remarks on this were, and I quote,” Alissa straightened her back to best immolate the eldest of the royal siblings, “Only Torrhen knows how to properly treat a guest.”

Rhaenys snorted at the impersonation, “She did not, did she?”

Brendon nodded, “Aye, your Grace, we were there during her visit last year. Wanted the boys to get to know where they come from.” Brendon shook his head, “She also told me and Alissa to enjoy our visit as she would bring the boys back to King’s Landing.”

“Still have to keep them from trying to ride the dire wolves,” Alissa smirked, “They don’t seem to understand why the living representation of the sigil dislikes being ridden.”

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Rhaegar led Ned to the Tower of the Hand, the two boys being the last to arrive for the meal. Aerys nodded to the pair as Tywin merely glanced at them before returning his attention to the king. Rhaella smiled to them and directed to the last remaining seats at the table.

After they were seated Aerys turned to them, “Lord Tywin was just telling me Casterly Rock did not need to seek a weirwood tree to adhere to Aegon’s Word. I find that most interesting.”

“Aye father, most interesting,” Rhaegar turned to Ned, “I thought those trees were rare in the south before Aegon’s Word.”

Ned nodded, “They were my prince. The one at Casterly Rock and Raventree Hall being a couple I am aware of. Though, if memory serves the tree at Casterly Rock still lives, while House Blackwood had to plant a new one in the shadow of their house’s ancient dead one.”

“True Lord Stark,” Tywin smirked, “I believe my seat is only third behind your own home of Winterfell and Highgarden in the Reach for having the largest settlements of Children as well.”

This actually surprised Rhaegar, as he was already aware of the weirwood, “Truly, there are more there than here?”

“Yes, my prince,” Tywin took a sip from his wine, “As you may know my house is actually one of the First Men houses. We converted to the Faith of course but protected the Stone Garden to remind ourselves of our origins. As such the Pact between the Children and our ancestors must be honored.”

Aerys hummed, “So they flock to the Rock. Did your ancestors, not drive them out during the Andal invasion?”

“I am sorry to admit, but we did.” Tywin shook his head, “By the time it happened we were already alone, most of the other families in the south were either extinguished or had converted to save themselves. A man with faith is a dangerous thing, no matter their god. Give that man a sword and tell him his actions are in the service of his god, you have a man with no fear of death.”

Rhaella grimaced, “Such a disturbing thought. Lord Tywin, you must be looking forward to seeing dear Joanna and your children.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Tywin looked lost in thought, “I have only seen them in brief visits since their births. I hope to return with Jamie he will do well as a page for Prince Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar smirked, “Hear that Ned, you will no longer be my youngest shadow.” Rolling his eyes Ned sipped at the watered wine they’d been allowed. Rhaegar turned by to Lord Lannister, “Though, my Lord is five name-days not a bit young?”

“Perhaps,” Tywin smirked, “but from what your father our good King has been mentioning I believe it may behoove him to get used to the capital. Your father says he is thinking of calling young Oberyn Martell to the Capital, as well as his sister Elia to be one of your mother’s ladies.”

Rhaegar noticed his mother brighten at this, “Really, it has been so long since they have visited. Have you told Lewyn, he will be most pleased to have kin so close?”

The young Prince knew his parents did not truly love one another but could be mistaken by the look his father sent his mother at her remarks. The King took her hand, “I have asked Lewyn to write his sister. I know you must be lonely, shut up in the holdfast all day. I thought a few familiar faces could liven up these old halls.”

“Yes, and Rhaegar and Eddard could use a few companions of equal station,” Rhaella grinned at the King.

Rhaegar averted his gaze, not wanting to think on what his parents might get up to later. The new Grand Maester was finally selected and would be arriving from Old Town in a couple weeks. The man had sent a raven telling them that Pycelle’s poison should have ran its course. Though, the new Grand Maester, a man called Avar Reed had told them to take it slow, Aerys had spent the last week visiting Rhaella’s chambers.

Shaking himself Rhaegar turned to Tywin once more, “Will you be bringing your daughter as well?”

There was a gleam in Tywin’s eyes as he answered, “Perhaps not quite yet. I need Joanna to continue running the Rock for me as I am elsewise preoccupied with assisting your father with the Kingdom. I would hate to deprive her of both our children.”

“Of course,” Rhaegar noticed Ned picking at his food. He knew the younger boy was observing and listening to every word spoken. Later they would discuss what the Lions were really after. Turning to Tywin he continued, “I look forward to taking up your duties during your absence. I of course know the kingdom is quite stable. What with father being so beloved and your steady guidance of the small council.”

Tywin’s brow rose at that, “I am sure you will do splendidly my Prince. I look forward to seeing what you accomplish during my absence.” Rhaegar had merely nodded before turning back to Ned to initiate a less politically charged conversation. He was pleased Tywin returned to speaking with his father.

A couple hours later the two boys were dismissed to return to the holdfast. Arthur followed in their wake though he kept eyeing the two spear wives with more than a bit of caution. The youngest of the king’s guard he was not the least of its members, but he still remembers the butt kicking he received in Winterfell.

Ned halted the group then turned to the two women, “Your dismissed, give your reports to the Widow, then your free for the night. Tomorrow find Ser Gerold he has requested your skills as scouts.”

The women glanced at Rhaegar and Arthur before giving curt nods and turning down another hall, “Are all free folk like that?” Arthur shivered, “I have heard of Dothraki more genial than those two.”

“Marta and Hela Karstark,” Ned shrugged, “They’re from the Wall. Tends to harden most, but they have had a few run ins with southerners that have questioned their skill with arms. The Widow had had to have more than one conversation about proper decorum.”

“Wait, Karstark?” Arthur frowned, “I thought they were free folk women.”

Ned nodded, “They are, their mother is from a village north of the Wall. Their father is the younger brother of Lord Karstark, he is the commander at Queen’s Gate.”

“As a commander that means he’s said lifetime vows,” Rhaegar crossed his arms, “How did they come into your service?”

Ned huffed, “Father sent out a call to each of the noble houses to form my guard. Several of my Winter Wolves are members of various lower houses. A couple Skagosi even. The Widow is the leader of the spearwives, only because she’s the eldest of them.”

“Does it bode well that she’s called the Widow?” Arthur frowned.

Rhaegar laughed, “Even I know this story. The Widow is the younger sister of the Lord of Barrowton. She trained as a spear wife in hopes of stopping her father from betrothing her. When she turned eighteen, she was wed to one of her father’s retainers. The retainer was quite old and died on their wedding night.”

“At least he went out happy,” Arthur jested.

Ned glared, “Not quite. Lord Dustin found out his father bartered his sister to Lord Stout to pay a gambling debt. The current Lord Stout knew his grand uncle to be a cheater at dice. My father was in attendance for the wedding. She’s only called Widow because father forgot to annul the marriage before, he carried out the king’s justice.”

Rhaegar blinked, “So, cheating is a capital offence in the North?”

“Not cheating,” Ned smirked, “Slavery, the buying and selling of any intelligent being is an affront to the Old Gods.”

Arthur nodded, “Aye, a good ideal, but I know I saw a brothel or two during our journey up to Winterfell. Are the girls there not slaves to the brothel owners?”

Ned shook his head, “No, because those are not brothels. Brothels as you know them are forbidden by our laws and customs. Any inn may provide shelter to anyone, and how those patrons use the room is between them. It is known some innkeepers skirt the law, but forced prostitution is considered no different from rape. You do know the story of Brendon Stark correct?”

“Of course,” Arthur hummed, “The First Stark in King’s Landing. He kept Queen Rhaenys within his manse in defiance of King Maegor’s orders to hand her over. Then allowed her to slip away to the North where she remained until her death. Everyone questions the reasons, but some say Maegor feared Brendon.”

“He was wise to fear him,” The three turned to find Aerys walking toward them Rhaella on his arm, “Had Maegor tried to force his way into the manse, Balerion would have turned on him along with Meraxes and Vhagar. The Oath is very clear on that, no Targaryen or Stark would command their sigil to attack the other.”

“The Dragons would have taken that to mean no attacking Starks or their household?” Arthur looked confused, “Were they truly that intelligent your Grace?”

Aerys snickered, “Aye young Sir Dayne. Smart enough to keep out of family squabbles. Though, the defiance at the manse is not what young Eddard was speaking of. He speaks of Maegor’s treatment of his grandniece following her mother’s flight from the capital. Aerea was sent to a brothel on the street of silks. Brendon Stark heard immediately and having few options sent his own men to pay for Aerea’s company. Though, none of his men actually touched the Princess, only staying in her room as shields against lest scrupulous men.”

Rhaella picked up the tale, “Brendon Stark was quite irate when Maegor sent a royal missive demanding his men stop hogging his niece. Brendon tore the brothel down and dragged the owner to Rhaenys Hill and beheaded him before the weirwood there. It is said he sat there waiting for Maegor as he tossed bits of the brothel owner to the dragons. None living know what the two spoke of, but Aerea remained a guest of Brendon Stark until the Conciliator’s reign began.”

Arthur seemed to shake with fury at the tale, “I know it is not my place to question a King but was Maegor mad. To shame one’s own kin in such a way.”

“Mad?” Aerys snorted, “Maegor was a usurping fool. Torrhen Stark was an old wolf tired of battle when he crowned him. Torrhen’s sons though backed the rightful claimants and renewed the Oath with them. Maegor may have respected and observed it, but he never knelt before a weirwood beside a King of Winter and a Prince of Dorn. So, in other words, Maegor was never a true King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Rhaegar smirked as he patted Arthur’s pouldron, “To simplify my father’s account. It is fine to question Maegor.”

Aerys noticed Rhaella yawn so pulled her closer to his side, “I know you boys will be plotting long into the night. I have ordered Sir Oswell to wake you all by whatever means at first light so we can see Lord Tywin off properly. He is a grasper but has been a loyal servant.”

The boys nodded then watched the king and queen head for their chambers. Once they were out of sight Ned coughed, “Did your father both praise and insult Lord Tywin in the same sentence?”

“That he did Eddard,” Rhaegar turned toward his rooms, “Come my friends, we will have two moons at the very least without Tywin or his creatures watching our every move.”

Arthur sighed, “Should we not wait for Sir Gerold to return. Without Night Fury we will be forced to dig by hand.”

“I think we have been going about this all wrong,” Ned rubbed his chin, “If Blackfyre was returned by Aenys Blackfyre when he came to attend the Great Council of two thirty-three. Where did Bloodraven go after Aenys was murdered and the faceless men were slain.”

Rhaegar frowned, “The great weirwood on Rhaenys Hill. You think he would actually hide it there? Children climb and play all around it, and I am not talking of the Forest type of children.”

“Though, I am my prince,” Ned began theorizing, “If he returned to your grandfather with Blackfyre in hand. King Aegon would have accused him of kinslaying again without even listening to what had actually happened. Instead your grandfather used him as a scapegoat and sent him to the Wall along with Prince Aemon.”

“Alright,” Rhaegar nodded, “On the morrow after Lord Tywin departs and we have finished morning lessons. We could arrange a small outing to the hill.”

Arthur shook his head, “Doubtful my prince, your father will not allow us to just leave the keep.” Arthur turned to Ned, “Could you ask the Children in the god’s wood to poke around?”

Ned frowned, “Um, not really.” He took on a concentrated look as though he was thinking how to explain, “If Bloodraven asked them to hide it, and I ask for it they would keep it from me. Unless he told them to give it to the next Stark who asked for it. Otherwise I would have to just stumble upon it myself. If I do stumble upon it, well then, it’s the will of the gods, if not, then that’s their will.”

Arthur nodded, “I am beginning to understand your faith my young friend. I must say it is by far the simplest and most straight forward, while still being quite irksome.”

“Just be thankful House Targaryen converted to the Faith,” Rhaegar hummed, “Our dragon gods were not easy to please.”

(King’s Landing – 233 AC)

Brynden Rivers stood as Hand of the King as the ship from Braavos eased into its mooring and the gangplank was lowered. A dozen members of the Golden Company disembarked to form an honor guard. His own Ravens Teeth and Gold Cloaks stood at the ready. The last to disembark was a man Brynden could consider one of the few remaining kin he had.

Aenys looked grimly at him, “Uncle, you are well.”

“Well enough Aenys,” Brynden looked behind the younger man, “You come alone?”

“Unfortunately,” Aenys brought a familiar sword from his hip and displayed it for Brynden, “I come to settle this Great Council. I will declare for Aegon, and present him Blackfyre as a symbol of my house’s recognition of him as our king.”

Brynden glared, “Why now?”

“Why not,” Aenys smirked, “I am unable to even remember my father and eldest brothers. Your archers slew them on Redgrass Field. My brother Daemon died in your care, and you sent someone to slit poor Haegon’s throat before they even set sail. I will not let Bittersteel continue to use my kin in his blood feud with you. I will request safe passage for my remaining kin, and that King Aegon have Aegor Rivers given to the King of Winter.”

“Why do you wish my brother sent to Lord Stark?” Brynden frowned, he would need to buy these men’s silence or insure it by other means, “What grievance would you bring before him?”

“Calla, my sister, you remember her?” Aenys glared, “Aegor demanded father give her to him as a bride for his support in the first rebellion. He was a horrible husband, a monster to her in public and private. He drove her to drink the tears, it was her only escape.”

Brynden grit his teeth, “Bring Aegor to me and I will see justice done onto him. If you wish to end the hostilities, why have you not brought your nephew and other siblings?”

“I could not get to Daemon. Aegor would not allow us to speak,” Aenys returned the sword to his hip, “but once it is known we are welcomed home, the others will come and bend the knee.”

Before Brynden could reply a figure appeared behind Aenys, “Your kin send their regards.” The man ran a dagger across his nephew’s throat before anyone could draw their weapons.

It was Brynden who moved first, a knife hidden in his sleeve flew, embedding in the footpad’s eye. He dropped to the deck like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Brynden was at Aenys side hand pressed to stop the flow of his lifeblood, “Get a maester, you fools!”

He looked up to see only his Raven’s Teeth remained standing, “My lord?” One of them was crouching next to the assailant. The man picked up a token, a simple iron coin from Braavos.

Another Raven approached, “My Lord, it is too late, he is gone.”

Brynden stood looking at the scene around him. The Golden Company and Gold Cloak members had all been hit by poison darts. Too many for one man to throw so quickly. His own men had also been struck, but by some luck this faceless man had used one of the poisons his personal troops had been fortified against.

“Drink your antidote tonics,” Brynden reached down and pulled Blackfyre from Aenys corpse, “Tear this city apart, bring me every Braavosi you find. This one had help, had comrades. Burn every Braavosi ship in dock and secure his Grace. Close the gates, arrest anyone who tries to leave.”

“My Lord,” one of the Ravens dropped to a knee followed by the others, “Prince Aegon is here.”

Brynden turned to see Aegon and Duncan approaching. Aegon glared at the carnage, “Lord Hand, what happened here?”

“Negotiations were interrupted by an intruder,” Brynden bent down to retrieve his knife from the assassin, “Someone sent an assassin from Essos to murder Aenys Blackfyre. They killed eighteen men to get to him.”

Duncan huffed, “They left you alive because they figured we’d believe you poisoned all the guards with you blood magic and then slit your own nephew’s throat.”

Aegon turned to his friend in surprise, “What? How’d you figure that out?”

With a chuckle Brynden knelt to close Aenys eyes, “Sir Duncan may seem slow your grace, but I think that slowness only allows him to see what some of us might miss.” Brynden stood back up, “Regardless, this is the end for me. Aenys may not have died by my hand, but he might as well have. Bittersteel will blame me and tell Aenys kin that this was my doing. To prevent another rebellion, you must denounce me. I will submit myself to the Wall and take a lifetime vow of service there.”

“Lord Hand,” Aegon frowned, “Go to Rhaenys’ Hill, to the Great Weirwood. Remain there until either I send for you or men come for you.”

Brynden knelt, “You will be a great king your Grace. I only regret I will not be here to give you council. If you ever get the chance, introduce Bittersteel to Lord Stark. Remind Lord Stark of the tale of Princess Aerea and King Maegor, he will know the meaning. You are aware of the Oath and all it entails, if there is ever anything you need of me, well you will know where I am.”

“Yes Uncle, I will know,” Aegon turned to his fallen cousin, “Was Aenys a good man?”

“Your Grace,” Brynden sighed, “He was a man of honor just like his father once was. When I looked at him, I saw Daemon one last time. There will not be another like him I fear.”

Brynden made his way up the hill, only upon reaching the tree did he realize he still held Blackfyre. Looking at the sword with utter loathing he tossed it against the weirwood, “What good are you, you accursed sword. Father gave you to Daemon not to fill his head with false claims. Daeron was no warrior, what need did he have for you. Daemon should have stood beside our trueborn brother.”

He glanced down at the memorial stone, “Like Lord Brandon Snow. He stood beside brothers both of blood and sworn, but even he abandoned them all in the end.” Throwing himself down next to the sword he looked up through the branches, “Father, why could you not have been a better man, a better father. I could blame everything on Aegor, but it all started with you, you fat fool. Now only Aegor and I remain, are you proud of us father, the glories we have claimed thanks to your carelessness.”

“Do you like talking to yourself brother,” Brynden smirked as he watched her glide across the grass towards him, “Have you become so tired of this world?”

“Perhaps,” he sighed, “but you tired of it first. You left me to finish cleaning up his mess on my own.”

Shiera knelt next to him, her ethereal hands took hold of his face, “Bittersteel knew how best to wound you my beloved brother. Had it not been me then it would have been dear little Egg. Now look at our nephew, our father was unworthy, but he is the unlikely.”

“He thought you bathed in blood to retain your youth,” Brynden sighed, “He knows not that you are merely a shade of her, a bit of the Children’s magic. A wisp of my beloved bound to the shade of these bone white branches. He knows not that you died so he might live.”

Shiera glared, “I would do it a thousand times over for any of our kin dear brother. When we swore to Maekar to have no children of our own, did we not fail him time after time. First, I could not pull Daeron from his dreams, nor Aerion from his madness. We agreed Aemon was better off with the Citadel. Finally, you kept watch over Egg while he journeyed about with that hedge knight.”

“Could I do any less for the last hope of our family,” Brynden noted a figure approaching, “What other course could have been taken.” He watched as Aemon pulled back his hood, guards following him moved to the torches used to light the clearing as dusk began to settle into night, “So what shall it be?”

He noted that Shiera had vanished with the lighting of the torches, but Aemon’s eyes were fixed to where she had been as he spoke, “We shall depart for the Wall within a fortnight. A ship with new pledge shields and supplies is due to depart then. Until then you are to be remanded to the black cells, stripped of your position and authority.” Aemon bowed his head, “Uncle if there were any other way.”

“No, Aemon this is how it must be,” Brynden stood, but when he turned to collect Blackfyre it was gone. Smirking he turned back to Aemon, “Brynden Rivers is no more, only Bloodraven remains. Bloodraven, the kinslayer, the blood mage, the great bastard of Aegon the fourth. The most hated and reviled of all.”

Aemon nodded, “You will not go alone uncle. Our house is in shambles, I will not be used to cause it more ruin. I will join you at the Wall, my life to serve the realm of men.”

“Then let the Others return,” Bloodraven grinned, “we will remind them to fear the blood of dragons.”

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Rhaegar entered the god’s wood behind Ned. Though the younger boy often disappeared into the thickets to seek the weirwood, to seek his gods. This was the first time Rhaegar had set foot here, many times he had come near but the power that laid dormant here seemed to drive him away. Arthur walked at their heels a weirwood pendant of the seven clutched in one hand.

“Why does it feel like hundreds of eyes are upon us?” Arthur groaned.

“Because there are,” Jon Connington clutched his own sigil of the Faith. The young squire had of recent days joined their small cadre. Adventurous he had jumped at the chance to journey into the god’s wood of the Red Keep. Jon was looking up into the branches, “Lord Eddard do they wish us gone?”

Ned smiled as he turned back to them, “Are they shooting arrows at you?”

Rhaegar laughed at that as he moved to walk beside Ned, “They recognize me as blood of Aegon the Conqueror and a guardian of his Word. They must also recognize Ned as blood of the Stark in Winterfell.”

“Actually,” Ned huffed, “They call me the Stark in King’s Landing, because I am the only one here.”

“You do not hold that title though,” Arthur frowned, “you may in fact one day, but you are still a Stark of Winterfell. My good-sister may have a second son who could claim that title.”

Ned nodded, “Please do tell her to hurry on that, I am not planning to spend my entire life here.”

“What?” Jon jested, “Do you dislike us so my lord?”

Rolling his eyes Ned turned back to the woods, “My place is in the North.”

“Unless Arthur’s brother fails to have a second son,” Rhaegar mocked, “Then your place is here.”

Arthur hummed, “So, I will be the commander of your king’s guard, Ned your Hand. Jon, how does Master of Laws sound?”

“As long as its not Master of Coin or Ships, I am of agreement,” Jon laughed.

“We are here,” Ned led them into the clearing around the weirwood, “Rosebud, are you here?”

A lithe figure dropped from the branches, “What does the Stark require?”

“Nothing but words,” Ned knelt before the Child of the Forest, “Have you heard tales from the others of a sword, perhaps one hidden by a man called Bloodraven?”

“There are many tales of the one called Bloodraven,” Rosebud tilted her head, “but few regarding swords. If it be a blade you need, Wart Sap can fashion you one.”

Ned shook his head, “It is not for me,” he indicated Rhaegar, “The Prince’s ancestral swords went missing many years ago. We know the one called Darksister went to the Wall and vanished with Bloodraven. The other called Blackfyre, we believe it is hidden somewhere in King’s Landing. Your people are the only ones who know every inch of this city.”

“Blackfyre?” Rosebud frowned, “A name I hear of whispered by those who have lived here longest. Apricot, she was closest with him, she waits his return at the great tree.”

“Ned,” Rhaegar frowned, “I think I know who she speaks of. One of the Children always tends to one of my kin when we are young. Sometimes they become closer than others. Boysen was the name of the one who watched over me, but he was always standoffish, only jumping in if I were in danger of physical harm. I have not seen him since I was five. Lilac still watches over my mother, but father says she is blind. One of the victims of the Faith Militant.”

Jon spoke up, “Then why was she not replaced?”

“Gods chose who tends to who,” Ned replied simply, “I met Boysen when I first came here to pray. He would rather be out in the wilds not living here. Yet his dreams tell him he must remain, it is their will.”

Rhaegar nodded, “That is what father said, his own guardian was called away years ago by some dream. He never told me that one’s name. Apricot was the Child who tended to Daemon Blackfyre as a child. From what the family histories tell she was his only companion for his early years. After the first rebellion she refused to believe he would betray his own brother and refused to believe he was dead. She swore to await his return at Rhaenys Hill.”

“In that case,” Ned stood up, “Looks like this is less a case of the gods will, and more likely a case of misbegotten loyalty.”

“Not misbegotten,” Rosebud pipped up, “Humans tell tales and histories of the victors. We watch and know the truth, we are forgotten and not noticed.”

Rhaegar smiled, “The hidden witnesses to our histories. I would like to hear these tales, but perhaps another day. Ned, we will leave you to your prayers. Join me in the small council chambers once you are done. We will need to devise a way to get permission to visit the Hill.”

Ned nodded to his friends as they went to depart, “Rosebud, make sure they do not get lost.”

“Why? It is most fun seeing followers of the faith stumble amongst our woods,” Rosebud smirked.

“They are my friends and respectful of our ways,” Ned turned to the weirwood, “and Arthur is kin of my kin.”

Rosebud huffed, “Fine, but you owe me.”

Ned pulled a bottle of Dornish Red from his belt, “It was not easy to get, but here.”

“Good year,” Rosebud smirked her eyes gleaming, “you are are far too generous. I will end up owing you if I am not careful.”

(Casterly Rock – A week later)

Tywin Lannister nodded in satisfaction as he rode into view of his ancestral seat. Casterly Rock loomed above him as he reached the Lion’s Mouth. As he reached the summit and entered the ring fort, he found his family awaiting him. Joanna stood out front flanked by Jamie and Cersei. His brothers Tygett and Gerion stood behind her, there was no warmth in their eyes for him. Joanna’s siblings had come up from Lannisport to welcome their liege lord, or to at least keep up pretenses.

The Lannisters were not a close family, but they would fight and die for each other. Such was their pride. Allowing a groom to take his horse he approached Joanna, “My wife, I do believe all is well here?”

“Of course, husband,” Joanna pushed the children forward, “Children welcome your father home.”

“Welcome home father,” Jamie smiled as he spoke the same words as his sister, she though kept her face blank of emotion. Jamie continued after the welcome, “Is it true you have seen a dire wolf?”

Tywin allowed a small smirk, “Aye, several in fact. The most resent being the companion of the King’s ward. A rather aloof beast.”

Cersei now allowed concern to appear, “Why would the King allow such a beast to roam free?”

“It is not so much that the King allows it as he know it is best not to get in its way,” Tywin frowned, “Though, besides young Eddard Stark the beast seems most content in his Grace’s presence. The King is well versed in handling dire wolves, they have roamed King’s Landing for nigh three hundred years.”

Joanna smirked, “The Queen and I once visited the late Harold Stark of King’s Landing. His dire wolf was quite old and long in the tooth. Harold was a kind man, when he heard he missed the announcement of your father and my betrothal. He presented me a cloak made from a dire wolf. Not that I have had need of it, it was a grand gift, one few others could boast of receiving.”

Tywin remembered the cloak, it still hung in Joanna’s chambers in the tower of the hand. A fact Joanna revealed to the children as they asked if they could see it. Tywin turned to his brothers, “So, Kevan is still at the Wall?”

“Four more years,” Gerion sneered, “Mayhap he will renew his pledge for another seven, you know what they say. The second pledge is as good as a life vow.”

Tygett rolled his eyes, “Like Kevan would do something like that. He told Tywin he would return after the first seven were up.” Tygett turned back to Tywin, “Why you let him go in the first place is beyond me. Just because father said he could, does not mean he had the right to defy you.”

“Kevan wished to serve the realm,” Tywin huffed, “If he wanted to waste seven years guarding the realm from nursemaid tales, so be it. Once he returns, I will have work for him.”

Jamie pipped up, “Father, when I am older can I pledge seven like Uncle Kevan?”

“Over my dead body,” Tywin fumed, “No heir of mine is going to waste his time standing watch on a block of ice. Why would you even want to?”

“The maester said we are descendants of the First Men,” Jamie muttered, “Should we not stand beside our own people?”

“We are also descendants of the Andals, should we all don robes and start burning weirwoods while chanting prayers to the seven?” Tywin groused, “Your uncle did not pledge seven out of some cultural necessity or want to honor our ancestors. He did it for the plain and simple fact he wanted to get as far away from me as possible and the first ship he came to, was headed for Eastwatch.”

Jamie backed away from him before turning and storming off toward the keep, Cersei was quick to follow. Gerion chuckled at his expense, “Well done brother, not home an hour and you already chase off a family member. Good thing Genna decided to visit Emmon’s new residence.”

“New residence?” Tywin frowned, “What scheme has our good-brother gotten himself mixed up in now?”

Tygett was surprised, “You have not heard then?” Shaking his head, the third son looked unamused, “Lord Frey sent Emmon to Harrenhal to ensure Aegon’s Word was being adhered to. Old Walder is a bit fidgety because the Tullys came fleeing out of the Neck. Some say they left yellow trails all the way back to Riverrun.”

“Holster actually went to visit Lord Stark,” Tywin was surprised, very few lords were ever granted permission to visit Winterfell. The Tullys would be the last he would assume to do so.

Joanna pulled a letter from her sleeve, “Indeed, we received this not a moon ago. We awaited your arrival to decide how best to respond.”

Opening the letter Tywin frowned.

_‘To the Lords Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms. I Lord Rickard Stark, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North invite you to Winterfell at your leisure. Though, I would highly suggest you take up this offer swiftly as winter is coming is more than just my House words. Following a most unacceptable and reprehensible transgression, I find the North will no longer be able commence trade with the Riverlands. This of course opens great opportunities for the other kingdoms. By his Grace’s will I welcome you to come to Winterfell to discuss these opportunities.’_

Folding the missive Tywin growled, “I knew they were hiding something. Rickard and Aerys have been communicating in runes since Eddard arrived. When I get back to King’s Landing, I will not let this affront stand. Had I known I would have made straight for Winterfell.”

“Well,” Gerion joked, “Could been worse, they could have been laughing behind your back.”

Tywin rolled his eyes before turning to his wife, “How have the other Houses responded to these missives?”

“From what we have heard Lord Arryn is prepping to come down from the Eyrie and travel from Gull Town to White Harbor. The Princess of Dorne sent an emissary in her stead from what we heard they have been to Winterfell and have since returned. Lord Baratheon has set sail from Storm’s End and should be in White Harbor by the end of the week, it is said he planned to speak with the King before heading North. A party from Highgarden is due to arrive from Oldtown in a couple days. They plan to take the River Road to the Twins then the Kingsroad to Winterfell.”

Tywin nodded then turned to Damon, “Good-brother, meet the party from Highgarden and take their measure. Delay them here as long as is propriety allows.”

“That will not be long cousin,” Damon looked to his brother, “Is there anything in their manifest that we could utilize as grounds for an inspection?”

“No, just common trunks and a few carts of provisions,” Stafford frowned, “Though, there is an oddity. On the list of passengers this is someone call Tumble Weed, an odd name for sure.”

Tywin smirked, “Really Stafford, think on it, what kind of person would have such a name?”

Thistle Root called out from atop the wall, “Who said the name of my foolish brother?” As they all looked up at the Child of the Forest, she hopped down and moved into the center of the group of Lannisters, “Which of you golden haired lions dared speak that name in my domain?”

Stafford slowly inched behind his sister, “Beg pardon Thistle I knew not that it was you brother I spoke of.”

“Bah,” Thistle Root glared up at Tywin, “Do not be granting guest rights to Tumble Weed or any who he travels with. He will clean out the larder and drain your cellar dry before he leaves. Be wary of him, he be a tricky one.”

Tywin nodded, “So a befitting companion for both Lord Oaf and the Queen of Thorns. I will take your words under advisement Thistle Root. I see your journey home was without mishap, perhaps you would enjoy another trip. One where the weather is a bit cooler.”

“Hmph,” Thistle Root sneered, “You still afraid of wolves my lord? If you intend to travel with the Roses I better come along. No good letting Tumble Weed sink his hooks into you as well.”

Tywin turned to Joanna, “Have the children ready, I do believe its time they saw more than just the Westerlands. Damon will hold the Rock. Tygett and Gerion will come with us, and we will bring only a token guard.”

“Of course, dear,” Joanna smirked, “Arrangements have already been underway.” She turned to Thistle Root, “Will it be alright for you to leave again so soon Thistle?”

The Child of the Forest waved her off, “My brats can handle things well enough in my absence. If you are going through the Neck, it would be prudent for me to come. I can speak to the giants and the crannogmen to ensure our journey is swift and unimpeded.”

Tywin paled at the mention of giants. He had discounted their existence until a pair had appeared at the walls of Riverrun several years ago. The Warden of the North had sent them to protect the Children residing in Riverrun’s god’s wood. He noticed Thistle Root glancing at him so asked the question she was expecting, “How many giants live in the North?”

“Not sure,” Thistle Root smirked, “I know only a hundred kneel to the Stark in Winterfell. Those be the best warriors of the twenty clans. Of course, if needs be their kin folk would come a running to join the ranks.”

Gerion whistled, “Guess that is why the King wanted to have one of Stark’s sons as a ward. Hoping to keep the giants from coming down south again.”

Tywin could only mentally disagree. Aerys treated Eddard like a second son, or a favored nephew. No, Eddard was not a hostage against further giant incursions. Eddard served a much more dangerous purpose; he was the signal. A word from him and Rickard Stark could crush any House that got out of line. The real question was why the Targaryen had not used the power more often. The Starks stayed neutral during the Dance, and every one of the Blackfyre Rebellions. Though only two of them had actually resulted in battles on Westeros.

Looking at his family as they began to disperse, he could not help think there was more between House Targaryen and House Stark than liege and vassal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't fret we will still see the Dance and many other past events. Aenys Blackfyre's death was just more pressing to the current plot events in the modern times. Next chapter we will have some more visitors in Winterfell, while Rhaegar are in for a few surprises.
> 
> Character notes, just in case you forgot them.  
> -Harold Stark is mentioned in Ch 1  
> \--Harold Stark's only daughter married Arthur's older brother mentioned in Ch 1  
> -Thistle Root appears in Ch 2


	6. Chapter 6

(Winterfell – 10 AC)

Brandon stood in his father’s place to greet the arriving Queen. Rhaenys had landed at Moat Cailin, remaining there for a few days to visit with Bran and the neighboring lords. She had left Meraxes there borrowing a horse from Bran’s stables and acquiring an honor guard of Winter Wolves. This Queen dismounted and after surveying the courtyard noted he was alone, “The others await us within your Grace.”

“I would hope so,” Rhaenys pulled her furs tight, “How does your father fair?”

“Well,” Brandon smirked, “The Old Wolf has yet to lose his fangs. Father was rather perturbed you chose to ride the Kingsroad instead of your dragon. Had to stop him from riding out to meet you himself.” Brandon’s smirk faded, “You’ll understand why once we are inside.”

Rhaenys followed Brandon into Winterfell’s great hall, and she quickly realized why Brandon had met her alone. The rest of the Stark that remained at Winterfell stood at her entrance, save one. Torrhen Stark sat in his high seat, his once dark hair faded to a snowy white. As she scrutinized her husband’s sworn brother, she had to swallow a gasp. Where she could see his boots beneath the table one was missing.

Torrhen chuckled darkly, “I was hoping you would not notice so swiftly my Queen.”

“Torrhen, what happened?” Rhaenys discarded decorum mounting the dais so she could move to his side of the table. Torrhen’s right leg ended at his knee, “Visenya reported no such wound her last visit, and Brendon did not speak of this.”

“Brendon knows nothing of it,” Torrhen sighed, “Neither do your royal siblings. It happened after they all left last year. There was an altercation between two of the Free Folk tribes. One tribe recognized me as Magnar while the other retains their freedom. I found in favor of the tribe who bent the knee, not because they bent but because they were in the rights of with regards to the matter at hand.”

“So, the others maimed you in retaliation?” Rhaenys looked to Brandon, “Where are these heathens, I would show them my displeasure.”

Brandon indicated the large wolf sitting behind Torrhen’s chair, “The one who threw the axe is making peace with the gods. Wrath got to him before me.”

Torrhen nodded, “One man threw an axe, I will not judge his entire tribe for his actions.” Torrhen indicated a lad holding a crutch, “Besides, the man’s own brother sent his son to act as a page and guard for the rest of my days.”

The boy piped up, “And your son’s days Magnar, or the end of mine, which ever come first.”

“He is very keen on reminding me of that,” Torrhen indicated the seat next to his own, “Now Brendon tells me a dragon dream sent you to my door instead of Dorne. Not that I have not missed you, but Visenya is a known quantity for my bannermen. They will not know how to properly receive you.”

Rhaenys smiled as she took the seat, “Then why make them receive me, they should come to Winterfell. I know your people are not ones for tourneys, but we could hold a grand melee. The winner may ride beside us during a grand hunt.”

“Yes, that could be arranged,” Torrhen indicated his leg, “Though Brandon will have to attend the hunt in my stead. Will you take part in the melee?”

A mischievous smirk graced the Queen’s face, “Of course, I have yet to test myself against every she-bear from House Mormont. Your good-daughter Alissa is a fine sparing partner by the way.”

“Good,” Torrhen called for drinks, “I have received word from my wayward son in Dorne. Seems my wife had need of his kinship to her and the lack of kinship to other Dornish Houses. Lord Uller was planning a rebellion but he was related to the Martells.”

Rhaenys froze at that, “Uller as in the Lord of The Hellholt?”

“Aye, the same,” Torrhen frowned, “Do not know what the mad bastard was plotting but Rand put an end to it. Uthor Uller and his three oldest sons are all missing their heads now. His youngest son will be raised at Sunspear while his mother runs The Hellholt as regent.”

As a mug of ale was put before her Rhaenys quickly downed half of it, “Perchance did Brendon tell you the extent of the dragon dream I had?”

“No,” Torrhen frowned, “Only that you had one and it set you on edge. That was why you came North instead of handling Dorne as has been the way of things the past three years.”

“It is true Deria and I get along better than she does with Visenya,” Rhaenys gripped the mug tightly, “During my tours of Dorne I always follow the same path. Starting at Wyl then flying to Kingsgrave, Blackmont, Skyreach, High Hermatage, then a two day stop at Starfall so Meraxes can rest. We then fly to Sandstone followed by Hellholt.”

“Uller would know which direction you would come from?” Torrhen’s eyes widened.

Rhaenys nodded, “Every year I would always come from Sandstone. I would arrive early in the morning, the sun still rising behind The Hellholt.”

“Well,” Torrhen place a comforting hand on her shoulder, “You are safely in Winterfell, and my son foiled any plots that meant you harm.”

With a nod Rhaenys downed the remainder of her ale, “Let us not mention this to Aegon or Visenya. The matter has been dealt with.”

“If that is you wish my Queen,” Torrhen turned to Brandon, “Have ravens sent to the lords. Tell them Queen Rhaenys has arrived and would like them to meet her here. Then have the melee grounds readied for use.”

Brandon nodded, “Of course father, how many rounds shall we have?”

“Four. An open invite round for any who wish to participate, a Lords round for the Queen and our banners, an heir round for obvious reasons, the last will be a champion round the top seven of each of the other rounds.” Torrhen took a swig of his ale, “Also, arrange an archery tournament. Top three of that will be permitted to take part in the Queen’s hunt.”

Brandon nodded, “I’ll let Lya know to have the kitchens prepare for the coming feasts.”

(King’s Landing – 271)

Taking a deep breath Rhaegar steadies himself at the door to the small council chamber. As Sir Grandison opens the door for him he sees the members of the small council. With Tywin away, Ser Gerold on assignment hunting poachers, the Master of Whispers being less likely to attend a meeting than Aerys, and the Grand Maester still a few days from arrival. Only three members were present Master of Laws Lord Staunton, Master of Ships Lord Velaryon, and Master of Coin Lord Chelsted.

The three quickly stood as he entered the room. Lord Staunton glanced out the door, “My Prince, we were of the understanding Lord Stark would be joining us.”

“He will,” Rhaegar answered smoothly, “Ned needed to seek his gods, as we all must from time to time.”

“Of course,” Lord Velaryon moved to pull the hands chair out for the prince, “It is good to center one’s self before confronting the woes of an entire kingdom. I have had the honor of meeting Lord Stark’s father on more than one occasion.”

Rhaegar’s brow rose at that, House Velaryon was one of the few who knew of the Oath. Being so closely tied to House Targaryen it was bound to happen. Staunton and Chelsted on the other hand were unawares beyond the fact that the North and Dorne had special dispensations when it came to laws and taxes. 

Both Dorne and the North held their own laws, though Staunton himself was a scholar on these laws holding citizens of the two regions to them even while in the capital. In fact, Staunton was so enamored with Northern justice that he had dismissed the King’s Justice, empowering the judges to handle the sentences they pass. Of course, Staunton himself steps in if the judges are not able bodied enough to swing the sword. Rhaegar knew Staunton was looking forward to getting Ned’s perception on certain laws.

Chelsted on the other hand was less understanding of the dispensations. Always trying to get the King or Tywin to request more funds from the North or Dorne, or at the very least place a tax on their trade with the other kingdoms. No way that was happening, not after Aegon the third’s regent imposed a tariff on the two kingdoms. Cregan Stark and Aliandra Martell had happily cut the rest of the kingdoms out of their trade and cornered the markets in Essos. The Unlucky rose to a throne teetering on economic collapse. Once he renewed the Oath, Aegon the third repealed the tariffs, and the economy stabilized. Very few knew of the economic hardships, the regency doing everything it could to hide it.

“Your Grace,” Chelsted spoke as the prince took his seat, “Has your father or Lord Stark told you of the missive Lord Stark of Winterfell sent to the Lords Paramount?”

Rhaegar was quite aware of that missive. It had been Aerys idea, his father had been waiting for Lord Rickard to enact his part for three years. It appeared Lord Tully had stirred the ire of the wolves, and now Uncle Rickard was going to humble the lot of them. No mater the path the lords took to reach Winterfell, they were sure to see the might of the North.

Sure, the display of giants adorned in the sigil of House Stark appearing at the gates of Riverrun had been a wake-up call to them. The fleet at White Harbor and the garrison at Moat Cailin would drive the point home. Rhaegar smiled serenely, “Due to Lord Tully’s behavior during his recent visit, and his inability to reign in his bannermen. Lord Rickard has been forced to cut all trade with the Riverlands. As you know they were the North’s largest trading partner after the Crown and Dorne. Essos being the next closest in volume alone. This leaves them open to explore many options with the other kingdoms.”

Chelsted hummed, “Should the crown not send a representative to oversee negotiations? We could get a hand in these new deals.”

“The Crown must not meddle in the trade of the North,” Rhaegar smirked at Staunton who quickly brought the laws of the realm into play, “The North supports the Crown as the Warden of the North sees fit. I am sure we will see improved donations to the coffers if these new trade deals prove fruitful.”

“Agreed,” Lord Velaryon added, “Besides, Lord Baratheon has sent word he will be stopping here on his way North. Steffon no doubt will increase ironwood orders. I intend to request permission to request a portion of those orders to reinforce the royal fleet.”

Rhaegar rubbed his chin, “Better yet, have Lord Baratheon act as an envoy of the Crown. Father can not attend such a meeting himself, though I do not doubt his desire to return to Winterfell. As a cousin to the King, Lord Baratheon can be his voice to make such a request.”

Velaryon nodded, “An astute decision my Prince.”

A knock at the door and Grandison entered, “My Prince, Lord Eddard Stark has arrived.”

“Good, see him in,” Rhaegar watched Ned enter the room and make his way to a vacant seat next to him, “Welcome Ned, you are familiar with the small council I’m sure.”

“They are known to me, good day my lords,” Ned returned their nods of greetings, “Have I missed much?”

Rhaegar shook his head in the negative, “We were just discussing your father inviting the other Lords Paramount to Winterfell. It has been more than a few years since such a gathering has been held there.”

“True,” Ned frowned, “Not since Torrhen and Aegon went beyond the Wall. Many lords attended the wedding of Brendon Stark before returning to their own kingdoms.”

Velaryon spoke up, “We were just discussing having Lord Baratheon act as the Crown’s envoy. Your father would not be against trading ironwood to help bolster the royal fleets.”

“A strong fleet serves the entire realm,” Ned nodded, “For the right price father would be agreeable.”

Rhaegar had to hide his smirk, Rickard’s price would be a pittance compared to what he charges the other lords. The Crown though pays in coin, not goods. The Reach would no doubt trade food for fur and wood. The Westerlands would only be interested in goods they could themselves turn a profit on. Stormlands may wish to acquire permits to travel and hunt within the North, along with ironwood. If the Greyjoys are invited as well, they will have their demands. The Vale would not be interested in trade, using this invite to try and breach the political bubble that surrounds the North.

Velaryon looked smugly at Chelsted, “See Qarlton, you do not have to weasel your way into Northern trade. Lord Rickard is a reasonable man.”

“Now that that is settled, we have other matters to discuss,” Staunton stood, “Ser Gerold has been quite busy. He along with the detachment sent with him discovered several vendors within the market have outsourced to several unlicensed huntsmen. Ser Gerold reports three of these poachers have met unfortunate ends. Night Fury seems to take umbrage to men shooting arrows in his general direction.”

Rhaegar was surprised, “All that in only a day? It will be impressive to hear of his results now that the Karstark sisters have joined him. Let us assist them by stemming the source of this illicit business. Decrease the license fee for huntsmen in good standing and expand the licensure coverage to their apprentices. Also, increase the bounty on unlicensed poachers to a hundred stags.”

Chelsted nodded, “Lord Tywin was discussing a similar move your Grace. We will need to decrease spending elsewhere to compensate for the loss in licensure fees and the increased bounties.”

“That’s simple,” Ned broke in, “Reduce the stipend awarded to the Faith. The Crown is the protector of the Faith, not their bankroll. The only funding the Crown should provide is toward the upkeep of the Sept of Baelor and the one here in the Red Keep. The Sept that was built next to the Great Weirwood appears to maintain itself without any assistance from the Crown.”

Bristling Chelstead avoided eye contact as he responded, “We only provide what is necessary to support the upkeep. The sept on Rhaenys’s Hill is not official, nor is it sanctified. The Septon there is not even in good standing with the Most Devout.”

Ned grinned, “No wonder I get along with him. It still stands that the Crown is dispensing too much coin to the Faith. Four thousand dragons a year is far too much for general maintenance and caretaking. You could build five normal septs for that price.”

“What would you know about the needs of the Faith?” Chelstead huffed, “You pray to a damn tree and seek council from wood paste eating mad men.”

Raising a brow at that Ned replied, “You forgot that we cavort with filthy forest dwellers and giants.” Ned brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder, “I have heard all the nasty tirades some followers of the Faith spit at followers of the old gods. Unlike you we do not have to speak out against another religion, calling its followers names. You do all the work for us.”

Staunton and Velaryon could only laugh as Chelsted sputtered. Rhaegar shook his head, “We will cut funding to the faith by half. If his High Holiness does not agree, he can take it up with my father.” That ended that debate, “Now, as for the poachers,” he sent an exasperated glare to Ned, “if Night Fury leaves any for us to actually put to trial. We should handle some in the high court. Make it known to the Crownlands nobles that we will not condone their backing of these illicit hunters.”

All three lords were taken aback by this comment. Lord Velaryon having an island seat among the Crownland lords was the only one of the three who could honestly deny allowing illegal hunting on his lands. Lord Staunton too much a stickler to the laws of the realm, but his sons were often heard boasting about the trophies they had claimed while hunting. Rhaegar doubted the skills of the Staunton boys as both were notorious drunks and were not noted as talented with horse or arms. Lord Chelsted had no sons, only daughters, his nephew though was an accomplished archer. Aerys was a big spender when compared to Chelsted, but the few feasts Rhaegar had attended at Qarlton’s manse in King’s Landing never lacked in offerings.

Lord Velaryon spoke up, “Of course your Grace.”

“I will have everything arranged,” Staunton recovered quickly, “We do have one available for trial soon. Since we will be adding the harm to a dire wolf of House Stark to the charges it automatically brings the case before the high court.”

Rhaegar nodded, “Good, if there is nothing else, I believe we can disband for the day.”

The Lords all nodded before standing and leaving. As the last one left and Grandison closed the door, the one behind Rhaegar was opened by Barristan who stepped aside for the king. Rhaegar and Ned quickly stood as Aerys entered and moved to the King’s seat, “So boys how was it? Did they squirm at being commanded by lads half their age?”

“I think being talked down to by an eight-name day old boy almost gave Lord Chelsted a stroke.” Rhaegar smirked, “How was court father?”

Aerys waved the question off, “Any more boot licking my shoes will shine brighter than the High Septon’s crown. You do as I said and cut their funding?”

Rhaegar nodded, “By half. Chelsted kind of made it too easy. Though, for such a craven he had no problem insulting Ned in my presence.”

“I see,” Aerys looked to his ward, “Chelsted is a proud man and proud of his Andal heritage. How do you want to handle him?”

Ned shrugged, “He did not draw a blade, nor did he cause harm to a Child of the Forest or a weirwood. Words do not matter only actions do. I will watch him; I think his discomfort around Night Fury will be punishment enough. Once Ser Gerold is done, I might send Night Fury to lurk around the Master of Coin’s offices.”

(Kingswood – 217 AC)

The boy hid behind the massive wolf as it separated him from the brigands. The boy’s father lay against a nearby tree, a wound on his head where one of the brigands struck him. It had been the boy crying out for his father that had drawn the wolf. One of the brigands was clutching a bloody stump where his hand once was.

“Damn its Rolf,” the now one handed brigand grit his teeth, “You said there are no more of them dire wolves here. What in the seven hells do you call that?”

Rolf kept his club raised towards the wolf, “Nah, there aren’t supposed to be anymore. The last one was sent back North after the old Stark died. I do not know why it’s here, but I sure not letting it get me.”

“Please, don’t do anything stupid,” A large knight wearing a bull helm stepped from behind a tree, “as he is not mine, I have only limited control over him.” Ser Gerold pointed his sword at the two criminals, “You’re the outlaws raiding the snares of honest huntsmen and attacking the villagers eking out a living on grouse and hares. I am Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. By order of his grace King Aerys Targaryen second of his name, you are under arrest.”

The brigands looked between the knight and the wolf. Rolf scoffed, “You soft in the head bloke, there are two of us and one of you and a mangy wolf. Even with Lemy loosing his hand, we sure as hells going to outrun you. Not like I cannot wallop that mutt good to chase him off.”

Gerold sighed in defeat, “I asked you not to do anything stupid. Threatening Lord Stark’s wolf is the same as threatening Lord Stark. Marta please leave the mouthy one alive, I would like to have at least one living prisoner to show the King. Doubtful the other will survive at the rate he is losing blood.”

The brigands turned to find two women carrying spears standing behind them. The taller of the pair huffed, “I’ll stitch him up. I should at the very least cut this mouthy southerner’s tongue from his head.”

“Dear sister remember we are below the Neck,” the shorter woman pressed the blade of her spear to Lemy’s chin, then began tracing it down his body ending at his groin, “It is a different appendage we should separate from these beasts.”

Lemy turned to the knight, “We surrender, call them off.”

“Hela, enough,” Gerold moved towards Night Fury. He saw the Targaryen House sigil sewn into the boy’s forest green cloak, “Boy, you are with the King’s huntsmen?”

The boy pointed to his unconscious father, “Papa keeps count on the game and stocks the King’s lauders.”

Gerold knelt next to the fallen huntsmen, pulling the man’s head up to examine his face, “I recognize him. Know his name not, but the steward should know it. Pulling his gauntlet off he felt the man’s neck for a pulse, “Murdering a servant of the King’s household. Marta, patch the wounded one up. The King will want to handle these two personally.”

Several gold cloaks appeared within the glade. Two grabbed the murdered huntsmen’s body to return it to King’s Landing. Others helped secure the brigands as Marta Karstark quickly cauterized and sutured Lemy’s stump. During all this the boy had numbly stood still holding the three snared hens he had found. He only realized Ser Gerold was standing before him when Night Fury licked his hand holding the birds.

The Knight knelt so he was less imposing, “Tell me what happened here.”

“Papa heard the King was after the poachers,” the boy showed him the snares, “He figured the knights would need men who knew the woods best to help out. We were already due back in our village, so he said we’d pass through the King’s preserve and look for anything out of place. I found these traps; Papa was going to bring them to you.”

Gerold glanced towards the two brigands, “The traps belonged to those two?”

The boy shook his head, “No they said they were guarding them for the guy who set them. Papa tried to get them to tell him who it was who set them. They said it did not matter since we weren’t going to be telling anyone.”

Gritting his teeth Gerold stood, “Where is your village?”

“A two day walk from here,” the Boy pointed south, “Almost to the Stormlands.”

Gerold turned to one of the guards, “Ride down to the village, find the headman and learn if a Targaryen huntsman lives there. If it is the same as the man, we found here tell his family the boy is safe and will be returned to them soon.”

The guard rubbed his neck, “I can take the boy with me Ser, I know old Hobbs we’re from the same village.”

“The boy is a witness, and he has a duty to complete,” Gerold took the poached birds from the boy, “Deliver these to the huntsman’s family. If they do not receive all three you will be my new training dummy, understood.”

The guard swallowed hard, “Right Ser,” the guard turned to the boy, “Don’t you worry Noah, I will let you mum know you are alright. Sorry about your old man, he was a good one.”

Noah nodded, “Thanks Wilt.”

Once the guard was gone Gerold stood up, “We will return to camp. I have prisoners to interrogate.”

Marta placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Noah is it, come you can join us at Ser Gerold’s command pavilion. The camp followers should have dinner ready by the time we get there.”

Noah held up his travel pack hang across his shoulder, “I have my own provisions.”

“Nonsense,” Marta smirked, “Who passes up fresh stew in favor of jerky and hardtack?”

That’s how a common boy from a Kingswood village found himself sitting between two spear wielding Northerners at the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard fire. Gerold sat silently eating a bowl of stew, occasionally tossing a bit of venison to the dire wolf lurking nearby.

After the fourth time Hela spoke up, “You are spoiling that wolf good Ser.”

Gerold smirked, “We have an understanding. I give him treats; he lets me decide if the poachers get to keep breathing. As long as they are not shooting arrows at any of us.”

Noah glanced to the wolf, “So, it is true. The dire wolves have returned, there is a Stark in King’s Landing.”

“Technically yes there is a Stark in King’s Landing,” Gerold hummed, “but he is the King’s ward and not actively holding the title of Stark in King’s Landing.”

“Oh,” Noah pulled out a piece of weirwood with a rune, “Papa said the Starks would return.”

Marta grabbed at the rune, “You follow the old gods?”

“Aye,” he let her see the rune, “Papa was raised in the Faith, but once he took up being a huntsman, he said the old gods called to him. He and mum even went to the Great Weirwood in King’s Landing to get married in the old way.”

Gerold nodded, “There have been many conversions the last few years. Ever since the tragedy of Summerhall the numbers have become noticeable. The High Septon has been up in arms, but since it has mostly been the small folk who have been converting, his whining is mostly to appease the most devout.”

Hela frowned, “It is strange, I thought the old gods would be weaker this far south. Mother always said the new gods had driven ours out. That is why the First Men do not thrive below the Neck.” She placed a hand into the grass, “It is faint, but I can feel them.”

“It is stronger in the god’s wood,” Marta sighed, “Not as strong as back home at the Wall, but it is comforting to feel them at all.”

Noah’s eyes widened, “You are from the Wall?”

Hela smiled mischievously, “Actually, beyond the Wall. We’re Free Folk, some southerners call us wildlings, our pa is a watcher on the wall, a crow.”

Shaking his head Noah looked between the two, “Then why are you here helping Ser Gerold?”

“Because our uncle’s brats are too young to serve the Stark,” Hela huffed, “Lord Rickard called for spear wives and winter wolves to form a guard for Lord Eddard. Our uncle sent a message to pa. Pa had us and our siblings draw straws, we pulled the long ones.”

Gerold frowned, “Do you not mean the short ones?”

“Nope,” Marta picked up her bowl and drained the broth before continuing, “It is a great honor to serve the Stark. Short straws got to stay up North and help the Thenns settle into their winter camp.”

“Ah, I have had the displeasure of meeting members of that particular tribe,” Gerold sighed, “You indeed drew the better lot.”

(Winterfell – 10 AC)

Rhaenys was in her element within the melee grounds. Around her over a dozen lords and ladies of the North were locked in combat. In the south it would have been improper for her to compete seeing as the prize was riding beside her during a hunt. There was also a monetary prize, donated by Lord Manderly in lieu of participation in the melee. Some would accuse Lord Manderly had bought his place next to her in the hunt, but Torrhen assured her that it was acceptable in the eyes of his banners.

Looking for her next opponent the youngest of the royal siblings was hoping to cross steel with one of the she-bears. Alissa had informed her that her mother and aunt would never pass up a chance to teach the other lords a lesson. She knew Alissa’s mother was in this round, her aunt was in the heir’s round tomorrow.

“So, a southerner has the gall to face the lords of the North,” Rhaenys smirked as she turned to face the person who spoke. A woman older than her wielding a tourney mace, the similarities physically and in looks to Alissa gave away her identity, “Visenya always claimed that she was the tougher of you southern flowers. Never seen her jumping into a Northern melee yard.”

Smiling Rhaenys readied herself, “My sister is stronger than I, that I will never argue. Yet you forget,” Swinging she forced Lady Mormont to defend, “We are not flowers.” She pressed her advantage, “We are dragons.”

Sitting above the melee yard to observe Aegon’s focus was split between admiring his sister-wife engaging the Northern lords and ladies in mock battle and staring at the vacant space where his sworn brother’s leg should be. He’d just turned back to the melee in time to see Rhaenys and Lady Mormont coordinate strikes against Lord Bolton who had tried to take a cheap shot at Rhaenys.

“The Queen is doing quite well,” Torrhen laughed, “Not many could hold their own against Lady Mormont, her own husband lost to her during the melee before their wedding.”

Aegon chuckled, “Where is Lady Mormont’s son? Did he not wish to take part in the melee?”

“He is in the heir’s round with his aunt and about a dozen cousins tomorrow,” Torrhen indicated a rowdy bunch cheering on Lady Mormont across the way, “He will make it to the final seven for the champion’s round.”

“I am glad word of the melees reached me as swiftly as it did,” Aegon signaled for another drink, “Though, I am disappointed I could not enter the lists.”

Torrhen smirked, “You could always enter the heir’s round, but you already have a spot in the lead party of the hunt.”

“True,” Aegon focused on his sister, “and this is truly for her benefit not mine. I heard of what Rand found at Hellholt, I am sure she asked you not to tell us, but she forgot your sons are as good as my nephews. Though, they all love her far more than they do me.”

“My son’s letter still held signs of his tears and his rage,” Torrhen drank from his ale, “Had he been late in his arrival or delayed, or Visenya followed the route her sister commonly took. I know from his letter and that of my wife, the Ullers did not die clean, he made them suffer as is just for oath breakers.”

Aegon drank then relaxed back into his seat, “Did your wife tell you what made her suspect her cousin of duplicity?”

“She had been mindful of him ever since our wedding,” Torrhen paused as Rhaenys was forced to roll over the she-bear’s mace and was almost immediately engaged by Lady Fran Stark his own good-daughter. She was of the Free Folk and had wed Bran the Lord of Moat Cailin. Their battle was interrupted by Lady Mormont pulling Rhaenys back and shouting at Fran to wait her turn, his good daughter smartly backed down to seek another opponent.

Once the fighting had returned to its normal rhythm Torrhen continued, “Apparently Lord Uller was of the impression Deria would choose him as a paramour after her first husband’s death. I have ordered Rand to look further into the death of my stepchildren’s father.”

Aegon nodded, “If Uller and Deria had had a child, by Dornish custom even as a bastard the child would have held claim to Sunspear and their crown. Was he truly thinking the other Dornish Houses would support him?”

“Hard to say,” Torrhen indicated the nobles either cheering on the combatants or partaking in the actual melee, “Even some of my banners are less than pleased with the current arrangement. The difference being I was already a proven leader before the Conquest. Deria’s father abdicated in favor of his daughter once he was sure I was not going to force her to live in the North.”

A realization suddenly came to Aegon, “She knows not about your injury, does she?”

“As surely as Rand sent you word of the events at the Hellholt,” Torrhen shook his head, “The boy could not hide anything from those he sees as kin.”

Nodding Aegon sipped his drink, “So, I should prepare for Deria to abdicate to her son. She is probably already planning her voyage to White Harbor. Surprised she has not burst into Winterfell already.”

“I doubt she will abdicate,” Torrhen scoffed, “We are warmer with each other than we used to be, but I doubt we will ever be as affectionate as you are with your own Queens.” Torrhen noticed Fran had begun lazily taking out various lords as she waited for Rhaenys and Lady Mormont to finish their fight. She had already taken out Lord Karstark and Lord Dustin and was currently standing on a downed Lord Umber who was refusing to yield.

“Your good daughter is quite gifted,” Aegon had followed his gaze, “I remember seeing Lord Umber tear a wight in half quite easily. I guess even the most intimidating individuals can be bested, if you have the right assets.”

Torrhen huffed, “Umber is a blustering fool still stuck in the past. He would have already yielded if she were born on this side of the Wall. I told her if she got the chance to put the blowhard in his place. I did not mean to literally use him as a footrest.”

“Why is your good daughter representing the Moat,” Aegon had noticed Bran was not present, “Is your son well?”

“He is fine,” Torrhen sighed, “We are giving each other some space following the departures of Able and Randyll. That my injury occurred not long after Randyll left for Essos, has not eased the tensions between us. Fran believes we are both being foolish children, and I fully agree with my good daughter.”

Back in the midst of the melee Rhaenys had finally disarmed Lady Mormont. The she-bear laughed after yielding and wished the Queen luck with the remaining opponents. Looking around Rhaenys realized they would meet again in the champion’s round as only six combatants remained, excluding a sputtering Lord Umber who had finally yielded just before Lady Mormont.

Besides herself and Fran Stark, the remaining combatants were Lord Reed who was facing a fellow crannogman in Lord Fenn, both wielding staves in lieu of actual spears, not far from them Lord Glover was locked in combat with Lord Wull. Rhaenys shared a look with the Free Folk woman, they were the outsiders here. She watched Fran head for the crannogmen before moving towards the other two men.

Lord Glover spotted her approach and swiftly disarmed Lord Wull. The Lord of Deepwood Motte gave her an exaggerated bow, “Your grace, I do find it interesting you come to challenge us. Are there none worthy below the Neck?”

Rhaenys flourished her tourney sword, “I would not know,” she shared a knowing smile with the Northern lord, “besides an occasional spar with Lady Alissa or Princess Deria, well I feared I was getting rusty.”

The lord indicated the dwindling field of opponents, “Your grace has performed marvelously. I would know because we Northerners do not pull our punches. In fact, I am quite excited to cross blades with your Grace. To face someone who can stand toe to toe with Lady Mormont, you should know she is one of only eleven lords who can claim to have killed one of the Others. Those eleven can claim such a feat because they were actually witnessed in action. She embedded dragon glass into one of her maces, split the demon’s head like a melon.

“I thank you for your praise my lord,” Rhaenys readied herself, “but I do believe we have wasted enough time talking.”

“Agreed,” Lord Glover sneered, “Though, fair warning my Queen. The only man I have ever yielded to sits beside your husband, and I will not yield to a woman.”

Aegon heard Lord Glovers words but it was Torrhen who was in danger of crushing his ale mug. He saw his fellow king make a motion to a Winter Wolf standing at attention behind them. The Snow Wolf, as the insignia on his pouldron revealed moved to kneel at Torrhen’s side, “Go tell Lord Glover’s father that I wish a word.”

“At once Magnar,” The Snow Wolf sprinted off.

Aegon sighed, “I am sure Rhaenys will teach young Lord Glover a lesson in humility presently.”

“It matters not,” Torrhen growled, “The whelp dared to insult a guest of my house.” Torrhen indicated Brandon and the other Starks sitting nearby. Brandon’s fist was on the railing as he observed the fight, the wood seemed to be seconds from splintering. The others, nephews and grandsons of Torrhen’s were sharing looks of impending retribution, “It is best I handle this before the lads get too far into their cups.”

Aegon nodded his consent before turning back to the fight. Rhaenys was holding her own against Glover, the man’s prowess seemed more in boasting his skill than actually having any. His eyes narrowed at that, “Was this Lord Glover with us beyond the Wall?”

“No,” Torrhen was watching as the elder Glover made his way to them escorted by the guard sent to find him, “He remained safely on this side of the Wall. He sent his brother and nephews to lead his men but kept his heir behind. I personally burned the wight of his brother, also burned the remains of one of his nephews. The other nephew remains at the Wall as a pledge shield.”

The elder Lord Glover took a knee beside Torrhen’s chair, “My King, forgive my son. The fool is headstrong.”

“You have another son do you not?” Torrhen spoke already knowing the answer, “Ensure he is more fitting of the station of Lord of Deepwood Motte. I will not have my son suffer fools who disrespect guests within my own walls.”

“Of course,” Lord Glover sighed, “Ethan is a good lad, he is in the heir’s round tomorrow. See for yourself that he is of good character.”

Aegon spoke up, “What will become of your elder son?”

“The Wall,” Lord Glover spoke, anger evident in his voice, “A life vow unlike the pledge of his cousin.”

“I do hope this does not alienate you with House Stark,” Aegon did not wish to cause further problems for Torrhen.

Lord Glover spat on the floor, “I am no oath breaker your Grace. My son insulted the Queen for all to hear, his insinuation was clear for every Northern ear. Your sister-wives are as good as our king’s own sisters, to disrespect them is to disrespect him.”

“I see,” Aegon watched Lord Glover leave, “I know we have oft teased you by calling you brother, but the sentiment was always quite genuine. Even Orys refers to you as our eldest brother sitting on your frozen throne.”

Torrhen sighed, “As you have known I have many nephews and nieces, but my only sibling you ever met was Snow. You never asked of the others.”

Aegon stiffened, “I thought your nephews and nieces were from sisters. They are princesses so it would not be hard to imagine their children taking their name over their fathers.”

“I had no sisters, a couple female cousins such as my first wife,” Torrhen frowned, “My father had five wives, and three mistresses. Brandon was not the only Snow in my pack, just the youngest. My full brothers numbered four, halves numbered six, and seven snows.”

“Yet only you and Brandon remained when we first met,” Aegon swallowed hard, “What transpired?”

Torrhen glanced to where the Boltons stood, “Rebellion, and betrayals. My father wished to tie House Bolton to our own, try and end the hostilities between us. Three of my brothers were flayed and left at the gates of Winterfell. By the time fighting with the Boltons had ended I was left with only one full brother, two half-brothers, and Brandon who only came up to my hip in those days. Some say our father died of a broken heart, having to bury too many of his own sons.”

“Yet House Bolton remains,” Aegon glanced towards the group sitting beneath the flayed man banner, “I thought your ancestors made them give up the practice of flaying when they bent the knee.”

“We did,” Torrhen fumed, “That is why any of them remain breathing. Royce blamed the butcher of my brothers on his elder brother. Apparently, he wished to wed and bed his own sister instead of honoring the betrothal arranged by our fathers. Royce bent the knee after I parted Elmar Bolton’s head from his shoulders.”

Aegon downed his ale, “I am truly sorry, we never heard of these events on Dragonstone. Did none of the other kingdoms know?”

“The Lannister was aware, his aunt was my father’s fourth wife, he rode North with a thousand men to avenge his cousin, my younger brother. Harren Hoare also knew, but did not interfere, he gave Lannister permission to pass through his lands and provided provisions for his men.” Torrhen sighed, “You can see why Harren’s fate affected Brandon so.”

“I am now afraid to ask,” Aegon glanced around at the other banners, “What became of the remaining three brothers?”

“Halen my last full brother drank himself to death, he was found one morning in a ditch halfway to Winter Town. Cain ran off to the Night’s Watch leaving his children and pregnant wife in my care, vanished beyond the Wall not long after. Ander died of a pox a fortnight before you and your sister-wives decided to land those overgrown lizards at my gate.”

Aegon swallowed the lump in his throat, “So, just after losing you last trueborn brother. I just happened along with an offer of sworn brotherhood. I wonder if you would have been as agreeable to my offer if Halen, Cain, and Ander still lived?”

“It is hard to say,” Torrhen focused more on the fight, Fran having gained yields from both crannogmen as Rhaenys had disarmed Glover who was kneeling with both the Queen’s and his own tourney swords crossed before his neck, “You remind me of Ander, his enthusiasm and constant need to move forward no matter what has come to pass.”

Aegon had no words, so watched as his sister yielded to Fran Stark, promising they would face off properly during the champion’s round in two days, “It seems Rhaenys has had her fill of swordplay for today.”

“Yes, though I should warn her to watch Fran in two days,” Torrhen huffed, “Girl has a shorter temper than either Visenya or Brandon.”

“How does your son survive?” Aegon chuckled as Brandon approached to assist his father.

(Westerlands – 271)

Tywin sat upon his destrier at the head of his party, the past weeks had been one unusual incident after another. He had agreed to travel with the party from Highgarden. Joanna and the children were sharing the modest wheelhouse with Mace Tyrell’s mother and wife. While Tywin himself suffered riding alongside Lord Oaf day after day. There had been some entertainment during their first evening camping away from any keeps.

Thistle Root and Tumble Weed had a tit for tat argument but spoke in the old tongue so none present understood what they were yelling at each other. The argument was ended by a young septon who journeyed with Mace’s company as he was bound for White Harbor. Tywin could barely hide his humor as Thistle tried to bite the septon as he tried to reason with the pair. Apparently, the only thing the pair could agree on was that the septon should keep his nose out of their business.

Mace hummed as he looked at the short baggage train that followed them, “I have not seen either Tumble or that one of yours.”

“Thistle is not mine Lord Tyrell, and where she goes is her prerogative.” Tywin had seen the pair scowling at one another only an hour earlier as they walled behind the wheelhouse, “I am curios why the one from your god’s wood had come along with you. Thistle is a common enough sight in Casterly Rock, from the look of him Tumble must frequent your table.”

“Oh, seven yes,” Mace chuckled, “Tumble is quite beloved by the small folk of Highgarden. Few days go past that he is not serenading the ladies in the garden with his pipes or seen tending to the gardens. Does this Thistle not do the same for your house?”

Tywin glared, “She tends to the god’s wood as is her prerogative. She does not serenade anyone with pipes, actually I am not sure if she even knows how to play. Since the Conquest she had given council to my forefathers, she cautioned me against handling the Reynes and Tarbecks with such a heavy hand.”

“You failed to heed her?” Mace knew the question was rhetorical, all knew the outcome of the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion. The ruins of Castamere and Tarbeck Hall were still to this day left untouched even by looters. Mace frowned, “While I can see her point, we must remember they are not human. Sometimes we must do hard things to keep our people in line.”

With a raised brow Tywin was surprised by Lord Tyrell’s words, “Agreed, though I have been curious. What drives you to accept this invitation to Winterfell? You could have easily sent a raven with terms for shipping food.”

Mace laughed humorlessly, “You think this is about food?” The Lord of Highgarden tightened his grip on his reigns, “You are not as well informed as I thought. The Reach pays a tariff to Winterfell in food in favor of protection from Ironborn raids. It has been so since the great northern raid beyond the Wall. No man from the Reach joined in the raid, so King Aegon the first placed sanctions upon us. Torrhen Stark’s son Brandon had the sanctions lifted during the regency of Jaehaerys the first, but the Greyjoys made it well known our shipment had better not be late.”

“So, neither the Crown nor the Warden of the North know of this?” Tywin had never heard of the Ironborn using threats, nor that there were any close ties between the North and the Iron Isles.

Mace sighed, “No, we could not reveal we were being extorted, and if a shipment was late. The Ironborn cared not if it were due to weather or a bad harvest. If they even got wind of starvation in the North, they would raise our entire coastline.”

“You are intending to break this silence?” Tywin felt the need to send word to the Rock to prepare the Westerlands for impending attacks.

“Yes, Lord Quellon is a different sort. He and some of his banners are looking to find a new way to supplant the old. He sent word that if I were of a mind to continue sending a portion of the Reach’s harvest North, he would have no qualms about keeping his reavers at bay.” Mace smirked, “He also implied that if I were not of that mind, he would keep those he could at bay, and send warnings about those he could not.”

Tywin had very little interaction with Quellon Greyjoy, the man kept to himself as most Lords of the Iron Isles have. Ironborn were also a rare sight in Lannisport though it was not unheard of them making port to offload stolen goods in return for food to take back to their islands. Trading was not in their nature, and the Lannisport customs officers had been given orders to do whatever was necessary to see them on their way.

An interesting thought past through Tywin’s head. His brief conversation with Jamie when the boy made his desires for making the pledge of seven to the Wall. Lannisters, Tyrells, and even the Ironborn all shared a common ancestry. While the Lannisters and Tyrells had joined with the Andals both in faith and blood, the Ironborn had by and large remained the same. Tywin frowned as he voiced his thoughts, “Lord Mace, have you any knowledge on the origins of the Ironborn, they are descended from the First Men like ourselves?”

“Look far enough back in most of our histories you will find that we all have a bit of the First Men in us,” Mace chuckled, “Yes, they in fact originally outcasts from the First Men who settled the Reach, Westerlands and the Stony Shore of the North. It is said the men who came from the North were the ones who took control of the other groups. The Grey King organized them so they would not be slaughtered by the mainland kings they fled from. They resorted to reaving to sustain their people.”

Tywin had wondered why the Stony Shore in the North was so sparsely populated, “So if not food, what are you planning to discuss with Lord Stark?”

Glancing around Mace lowered his voice, “To tell the truth, I was quite hoping to offload my mother upon Lord Rickard. It is not unheard of for Lord Starks to remarry without intention of having more heirs. Mother, though I love her dearly, she weakens my authority with my banners. They fear and respect her more than me, and do not think I know not what people call me. Lord Oaf, the fat fool, among other names.”

While not being among Tywin’s favorite people in the world even he would not wish the Queen of Thorns upon him. Tywin sighed, “I doubt very much Lord Rickard will see much worth in marriage to your mother. Why not seek a betrothal between a future son with Lord Stark’s daughter? She is of yet not promised, to my knowledge.”

“A splendid idea,” Mace glanced to the wheelhouse, “Though, is that not why you are bringing your son Jamie?”

Tywin shook his head, “No, I will not be making Lord Tully’s mistake. Jamie and Cersei come not as potential matches for Lord Stark’s pups. If perhaps a match comes about so be it. I have other plans for Cersei, but perhaps Jamie and Lady Lyanna will surprise me. My true goal for bringing my son is to get the notion of pledging seven to the Wall is not some gallant adventure. It is a serious business and no place for the heir of a Great House.”

“Agreed,” Mace looked forwards, “Let the Northmen watch those frozen wastes for snarks and grumpkins. What good are they doing protecting the rest of us from actual threats. Wildlings are let through all the time, what are they actually protecting us from?”

“A good question,” Tywin spotted the Twins looming before them, “With any luck Genna got my message and has secured our passage. Unless you would like to offer your mother to Lord Frey.”

(An hour later)

Standing before Lord Walder Frey, Tywin was not impressed with the old man. Walder had surrounded himself with his progeny, true born and natural alike. Sons, daughters, grand and great grandchildren. Though, what struck Tywin as odd was the number of men already armed and armored sitting on the edges of their seats.

“I do hope our arrival has not alarmed you Lord Frey,” Tywin noted Genna and Emmon sitting with their son, all prepared for travel.

Walder frowned, “It is not you who garner this call to arms my lord. Lord Tully ordered me to ready the Twins in case giants decide to visit the Riverlands once more.”

“I am confused,” Tywin smirked, “I do not remember hearing of them passing through the Twins during their last visit. What makes Lord Tully believe they would need to do so? Even more important, why would Lord Stark send more, has Lord Tully broken Aegon’s Word?”

“Do not know about that,” Walder pointed to a Child of the Forrest lurking in the rafters, this one looked even more weasel like than the Frey themselves, “but I would have it known we adhere to the Word. No word breakers will find shelter within these walls.”

Tywin noted the Child’s eyes gleam malevolently before the creature vanished from sight, “I understand, your reluctance to speak against your liege lord. Though, I am sure Lord Stark will not break the King’s Peace over such a matter. My party seeks passage across so we might continue on our way to Winterfell.”

“Who am I to impede you on business with the North,” Walder glanced to Genna, “Your sister has agreed to take a message to Lord Stark for me. I would send someone myself, but from my understanding it is only the Lord Paramounts and their parties that are welcome to enter the North. This close to winter, I would wish you a speedy journey.”

“I thank you Lord Frey,” Tywin turned to Genna, “I am also heartened to see my sister fairs so well, we will not infringe upon your hospitality for too long. Rest our horses and arrange our party for the trip up the causeway…”

Walder interrupted him, “You will find a guide has already arrived to escort your party through the Neck. Lord Reed arrived this morn with a contingent of Winter Wolves baring the mark of Moat Cailin. An honor guard quite greater than the one supplied to Lord Tully.”

Tywin turned as a door opened. A small man flanked by two imposing figures wearing the armor of the Winter Wolves entered. Tywin noted the seven wolf heads arranged in a circle on their pouldrons, this differed from the single wolf head on those guarding Lord Eddard in King’s Landing.

The small man bowed his head in greeting, “Lord Hand, I am Lord Reed of Greywater Watch. Lord Rickard Stark, Warden of the North has tasked me with guiding yours and Lord Mace Tyrells parties through the Neck and safely to Moat Cailin. Whence your escort of Winter Wolves will see to your safe arrival to Winterfell.”

Tywin nodded, “Greetings, I did not think word of my journey would have reached Lord Stark so soon. Your accompaniment through the Neck is most welcome. As I was telling Lord Frey we will set out as soon as our parties have had time to freshen our horses and arranged ourselves for the journey.”

“We will set out presently,” Lord Reed said without preamble, “Fresh horses will be provided courtesy the Lord of Moat Cailin. Your current horses will be housed and cared for by Lord Frey and will be awaiting your return.” Lord Reed turned eyes made of jade stone to Lord Frey, “Isn’t that right my lord?”

“Of course, of course,” Walder waved his hand through the air, “They will be well tended to and returned to you better than you left them.”

Tywin nodded, “Will we make it to the Moat before nightfall?”

“No, but you will all be guest of Greywater Watch,” Lord Reed said flatly, “My household is already preparing for our arrival.”

“I see,” Tywin was confused, “Pardon my ignorance, but I was not aware Greywater was so close to the causeway.”

Lord Reed smiled, “Normally it is not. You will understand once we arrive.”

(Later that evening)

The sun was already setting by the time the wooden walls of Greywater Watch came into view, spied through an opening in the dense vegetation of the Neck. The swamp teemed with life, and Tywin could only grimace as Tygett was wiping bug juices from his face. A rather large mosquito looking insect had flown into his visor, it had been Gerion who pulled their brother’s helm off smashing the bug in the process.

Lord Reed had chuckled at the scene before moving back to offer Tygett a damp cloth to clean himself, “My pardon my lord, I should have warned you to raise your visor. The bugs do not know the difference between a helm and a crevice within a tree. You are most fortunate it did not have time to lay eggs within your ear or nose.”

“Most fortunate indeed,” Tygett looked green, “Are we safe to stay within your keep, I would hate to wake to find myself the meal of another such horror.”

“Safer than sleeping outside,” Lord Reed smiled as he moved to walk beside Tywin once more, “None of you southerners are properly equipped to sleep within my swamp. No netting within your tents nor on the windows of that wheelhouse. It was good the Stark sent me to greet and escort you.”

Once they had actually reached Greywater Watch, Tywin understood what Lord Reed had meant. The keep itself was entirely made of wood, with bracings of iron used to reinforce the structure. The structure itself sat upon a series of pontoons that raised it above the water. Barges tethered to the main structure acted as outbuildings and watchtowers. Already the crannogmen were readying to pull the main structure away from its birth on a shoal.

Lord Reed nodded his head as they paused before the gangway that led within the keep structure, “I have returned, open the gate and welcome our guests.”

Later after his household had been settled Tywin and Joanna met with Lord Reed and his wife in the crannogman’s solar. A simple room with sparse décor, but the outlines where pictures and other decoration had once been mounted showed they had only recently been removed. Lord Reed’s wife served them drinks as they awaited the arrival of Lord Tyrell and his wife. Tywin was immensely grateful the Queen of Thorns had retired after the evening meal.

Mace entered with Alerie Hightower on his arm, his wife’s growing stomach over the last few weeks evident of her condition. Lord Reed leant over his desk as Mace settled into the chair meant for someone of much smaller frame, “We will reach our closest landing to Moat Cailin in three days. We will arrive in the evening so you will disembark on the fourth day. I have the honor to officially welcome you to the North.”

“What a welcome,” Mace laughed, “What was that fish your cooks served? It was the largest I have ever seen caught this far inland. Did one of your men journey to the sea to catch it?”

“The catfish?” Reed looked confused, “It was actually a rather small example. My son Howland caught it this afternoon off the trailing tower barge.”

Tywin was impressed “That boy, he cannot be more than nine name days.”

“Eleven,” Lord Reed smirked, “We are a bit smaller than you Andals after all. It is true, though my son tells me it ate a rather young lizard-lion before he caught it. Such a large meal no doubt made it lethargic and easy to spear. I am glad you enjoyed the welcome, I would have held a proper feast, but I felt you would all appreciate an early evening.”

Noting there were no visible maps Tywin inquired, “Would it be possible to see a map of our course to this other landing? I would like to see that we are truly on the quickest path.”

“I assure you Lord Hand,” Lord Reed sighed, “We are on the quickest course known to my scouts. The landscape of the Neck is ever changing and if one reports a shortcut, I will have our course adjusted appropriately. As you can guess it takes a rather deep channel to allow Greywater to pass.”

“We use barges to traverse the Reach,” Mace nodded, “Though, they are nothing compared to this marvel. When was it constructed?”

“The first Greywater was built several thousand years ago, though that one sank somewhere deep in the Neck because it was built too heavy. This version of the keep was built originally a thousand years ago on the skeleton of the previous one. We make repairs and replace damaged portions as required. Though we are one of the few Houses that can boast we have never suffered a siege or seen our home invaded by enemies.” Lord Reed looked to Tywin, “A boast we share with House Lannister is it not?”

“Very true,” Joanna smirked, “I notice there is no maester here.”

Lady Reed huffed, “We have no need for grey rats here. The Neck provides all the medicines we need, and it is our duty to teach our children how best to live here. Not some outsider corrupted by false knowledge.”

Placing a calming hand on his wife Lord Reed spoke, “As we are a moving keep, ravens cannot find us. It took Aegon the first a month to find us the first time he desired to visit my ancestor. So, we have very little use for maesters here.”

(Several Days Later)

After their journey on Greywater Watch the party moved swiftly up the King’s Road from Moat Cailin. It had been a day out from the Moat that Tywin had realized Tumble Weed and Thistle Root had completely vanished from their party. He had been sure they had left the Twins with them but could not recall seeing either while on Greywater. This was confirmed by Joanna but argued by the children.

It appeared Jamie and Cersei had seen Thistle Root, but said she had not been on Greywater itself, merely skirting along the edges of the swamp nearby. Cersei who had stayed in the Children’s tower at the Moat along with the Lord’s daughters said Thistle and Tumble had stayed there along with many of their kind. Though, after that all sightings had stopped.

Now rounding the bend to Winterfell, the Lord of Lannister had more important things to concern himself. Above the gates of Winterfell two other banners raved beside the dire wolf of House Stark. The falcon of House Arryn along with the stag of House Baratheon. Both had arrived before him.

Entering Winterfell, he found Lord Stark with his two youngest, present to greet him and Lord Tyrell. Standing a bit behind Lord Stark was Steffon Baratheon and his eldest son, Robert was tall for his nine name-days. Beside them stood Lord Jon Arryn the old man seemed disgruntled about something; his heir Elbert Arryn was busy watching the procession entering the gate.

Tywin dismounted first and once joined by his family appoached the Warden of the North, “Lord Stark, I would dispense with pleasantries as the trip was long and as I see no naked blades I believe you will be granting us guest rights. Though, I would doubt you would invite us all up here if the offer was not genuine.”

“Agreed Lord Hand,” Rickard nodded, as he directed a serving girl to approach with salt and bread. Tywin partook as did his wife and children. Genna though took a liberal portion of the wine offered to wash down the salt. Once guest rights had been extended to the Tyrells Rickard turned back to the Hand, “I am surprised by your arrival Lord Hand. I was half expecting an emissary.”

Tywin smirked, “I arrived home to Casterly Rock for a visit, only to learn you extended offers of potential Northern trade to each of the Great Houses. I would not pass up the chance to see beyond the veil so to speak. Kevan’s letters are so rare, perchance I could take a sojourn up to the Wall and pay him a visit.”

“No need,” Rickard waved it off, “He will arrive within the week along with a handful of other members of the Watch. He was tapped to recruit more pledge shields like himself. It is rare for one so early in their pledge to be selected for such a task. I can only suspect your brother had proven himself to many ranking officers.”

Tywin nodded, “Kevan knows he is representing the entirety of our house. I must also thank you for preparing such a dutiful man such as Lord Reed to see us safely through the Neck. He was awaiting us at the Twins and saw us swiftly through to within sight of Moat Cailin.”

“I had hoped you would be spared the indignities of the weeklong trek through muddy and rarely used roads of the causeway.” Rickard turned towards the keep, “My people will see you settled, and your men housed in the garrison.”

Thanking the Warden of the North the Lannister party was ushered to a guest wing. Tywin and Joanna were just settling in when their door burst open to admit Jamie and Cersei. The guard looking part way confused and worried but relaxed at his lord’s amused expression.

Jamie was the first to speak, “I was looking about my room and found this.” He held up an obviously well-worn book, “The rise, fall, and second rise of the Night’s Watch, a history by Arch Maester Gillard. It was placed next to my bed,” Jamie frowned, “Do you think Lord Stark left it there?”

“I do not believe so,” Joanna took the book from their son and briefly skimmed through it, “It was probably left there by the last guest who used that room.”

She handed the book off to Tywin who after skimming it himself returned it to Jamie, “You may read it, but do not get any fool notions. Return it to the maester so he might see it properly returned to the library.” Tywin paused as he noted a golden mark on the book’s spine. The mark clearly demarked the book was property of Casterly Rock.

Joanna noticed his gaze, “Kevan must have brought it with him. He did stay here a few days before heading for the Wall.”

Tywin nodded, “I will speak of this to Lord Stark, perhaps he did leave it for Jamie. So that he might return it to whence it came.”

Tired of being ignored for a book Cersei spoke, “You should see my room mother, it is almost as nice as my chambers at the Rock. Though, instead of looking out on the ocean I have a lovely view of the god’s wood. I can even see the leaves of their weirwood.”

“That is nice dear,” Joanna smiled to her, “One of the servants told me there is a chamber off the great hall that is made into a rudimentary sept. Alerie assured me she brought a set of statuettes with her. I am sure Lord Steffon and Lord Arryn will be more than happy to join us.”

“Do you think Lord Stark would mind if we saw how they worship their gods,” Jamie asked, “No one besides Thistle Root and her kin do so at the Rock. I hear they have no priests or priestesses.”

Tywin being less religious than his wife grumbled, “Those who follow the Old Gods are quite private. They have no need for a middleman between them and their gods.”

(Later that evening)

Rickard knelt before the weirwood, Ice resting against the trunk sheathed. Footsteps drew his attention as Tywin entered the clearing, “I was hoping I would find you here Lord Stark.”

“Lord Hand,” Rickard stood brushing the leaves from his pants, “I would think you had retired for the evening. Did you find your chambers lacking?”

“No, no they are quite suitable,” Tywin frowned, “I was just curious. Jamie found a book within his chambers. The book is stamped with the property sigil for the Rock. My wife assumes Kevan may have left it when he passed through on his way to the Wall. Though, I have my doubts, Kevan is many things but careless with property of our House he is not.”

Rickard nodded, “I would have to agree, besides Lord Kevan was here only briefly. Most of that time he spent here in the god’s wood holding a personal vigil. You could ask Eddard as he was the one who brought your brother’s meals during the vigil. At the end of the vigil he made his pledge and rode for the Wall, all of his personal effects accounted for.” Rickard’s brow furrowed, “What was the name of the text?”

“The rise, fall, and second rise of the Night’s Watch. Written by an Arch Maester Gillard, I do not believe I am familiar with him.” Tywin frowned, “I am not an avid reader but am rather familiar with most of the well-known Arch Maesters’ works.”

“Gillard is not well known,” Rickard retrieved Ice from where it rested and braced himself against it, “His real name was Abel Stark, the Citadel changed his name after he was relieved of the position of Grand Maester. He was King Maegor’s last maester and most likely the last man to see the king alive. His name is rarely spoken of within the North, nor do we keep his works within our keeps. I would appreciate you reclaiming that book and ensuring it never again leaves the Rock.”

“Is his work heretical to your faith?” Tywin was curious, in all the years he had known Rickard, he had never seen him so disgusted with one of his ancestors, “If so, I will confiscate it and destroy it. I do not need a heretic’s views warping Jamie’s mind.”

Rickard chuckled, “Nothing so drastic. That text is merely a collection of old Night’s Watch legends and stories. Also, a firsthand account of the reforms and the migration of the Free Folk to our side of the Wall. Though, Gillard did refer to the Free Folk as wildlings in his writings so it may be prudent to teach Lord Jamie to refer to them properly.” Quickly sobering Rickard continued, “Once you return to the Rock. If you would kindly please check for a copy of Arch Maester Gillard’s treatise on the Conquest. If you do happen to find it, please burn it.”

“You do not fear I will read it?” Tywin asked smugly.

Rickard’s brow raised, “It is written in First Men runes and was never translated. The only known copies permitted to exist are the one in the Red Keep, and the one in the Citadel. Apparently, someone broke Jaehaeyrs the first orders to destroy all of Gillard’s works and never make copies of the few editions permitted to remain.”

This surprised Tywin, as he had never heard of a Stark being so out of favor with a king. It appeared this Abel Stark was also well and truly out of favor of his own kin as well. Putting this thought aside he pushed forward with his other piece of business, “You may have been informed that I and Lord Tyrell were both accompanied by a Child of the Forrest each. A pair of siblings who lead their kinfolk within our perspective regions.”

“Thistle Root and Tumble Weed,” Rickard sighed, “I know of them, though have never personally met either. They are the elder siblings of Milk Weed, or Millie as my children affectionately call her. They passed through this wood two days ago, I believe they are headed further North to meet with someone. There are whispers of a seer beyond the wall, they may be seeking answers to some rumors that have come about in recent days.”

“I see,” Tywin glanced to the weirwood.

Rickard noticed the overly large owl shape nestled sighing he motioned toward the Keep, “Come we should return to the Keep. I promised Lord Arryn to meet with at sunrise, apparently he was hoping to ward Eddard along with young Lord Robert Baratheon.”

“You made a wise choice sending him to King’s Landing,” Tywin smirked, “The lad has already joined Ser Arthur as one of Prince Rhaegar’s shadows. The King japes the lads are plotting something, they seem to be found scouring the Red Keep from towers to cellar for something whenever time allows.”

Rickard chuckled, “That is good to hear, I was concerned the age gap would keep them from becoming friends.”

“That age gap is irrelevant Lord Stark,” Tywin groused, “There are times I forget I am speaking to a lad of only eight name-days when I do converse with your son. I know not how you raised your son, but he is truly a credit to your House.”

With a nod in recognition for the compliment the two men returned to the Keep in companionable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 17 pages on Word and 12,154 words. Hopefully that is a big enough apology for the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -For this chapter we travel to Essos for a bit, and the Dothraki are highly present, so figured I should give some warnings.  
> -This chapter contain canon typical violence and potential triggering events, including references to non-con situation.  
> -At the end I added four note points with some additional information on certain scenes. This was just to preemptively answer some questions without having to add huge exposition dumps within the story itself.

(Lands near Braavos – 10 AC)

Brandon Snow wrenched his blade from the Khal’s skull as Nape Snow a bastard from House Bolton slit the throat of the last of the man’s blood riders. Brandon watched with disgust as Nape licked the man’s blood from his knife, “Do you have to do that?”

“What?” Nape smirked, “It unnerves the locals,” he indicated the remaining two Khal’s and their blood riders who were being restrained by members of the Company.

Shaking his head Brandon indicated the corpse at his feet, “You see what happens when your screamers come tearing into my camp. Assault my people, try to run off with our women and children. I will not show mercy to rapists or slavers, you Dothraki come anywhere near the Free Cities again. I will geld every man I find and force your sons to walk into the Dothraki Sea carrying the bones of their horses.”

A translator from Braavos repeated Brandon’s threat in the Dothraki tongue. Some of the bound men looked ready to fight, but Ironborn arrows quickly sprouted from anyone who dared to twitch. Gwen Harlaw lowered her bow, “My love, do you have to rile up the poor horsemen. We do want at least a couple of them to make it back to that sorry excuse of a city of theirs.”

Torrhen Umber laughed as the blood rider he was restraining struggled, his Khal being one who now laid dead with an arrow coming from his eye. Torrhen snapped the man’s neck, “Why not send their bodies back tied to their beloved horses? That would be message enough.”

The Braavosi emissary coughed, “Does the Company of the Rose truly wish to make enemies of the Dothraki?”

“No,” Brandon frowned, “but they made enemies of us when they attacked out civilian camp at Qohor. My people will not be sated until we have either freed our brothers and sisters they have forced into bondage or they have paid us back a life for a life.”

One of the Khals who understood the common tongue looked to his fallen comrades. They had not been a part of the khalasar that had raided the Westerosi camp. Though, they had been gifted a number of slaves taken from the camp. They had ridden to Pentos to gather gifts from the weaklings there. He had joined his khalasar with six others of equal size. They were not the smallest of khalasars roving their lands, but they were not the largest either.

He was forced to look up when a delicate hand grabbed his beard and jerked his head up. The woman standing before him was the one who fired arrows into his comrades, “Braavosi tell this savage he has one chance to tell me which of his friends here was the one who dared to force himself on my daughter.”

“I…I understand,” he forced out in broken common. His eyes flicked to the barely nine name-days old girl who stood guarded by the largest wolf he had ever seen, “Not one of us,” he forced his head to the side and spat on the floor, “I won her from Khal Domo. I intended to take her to Vaes Dothrak. My son is of age with her.”

The woman tightened her hold on his beard and forced his neck into an uncomfortable angle, “As her mother I am not agreeable to the match,” She looked to the man who was their obvious leader, “Husband, what do you think of the match?”

Wiping gore from his sword Brandon Snow glared, “Are you actually japing about this? Find out if this slaver killed this Khal Domo or not.”

The Khal painfully nodded, “Domo is dead, his riders joined me or fled with his blood riders. All that was his is now mine.”

Brandon Snow smirked as he looked to the battlefield where his soldiers were still sweeping for wounded. Pointing his sword at the Khal, the commander of the Company of the Rose narrowed his eyes, “You lost to me and mine, so as I see it all that is yours is now mine. Where is your son?”

Bowing his head, the Khal answered, “On the ridge, if he has not already made for Vaes Dothrak to place his mother with the dosh khaleen.”

“Elmar Bracken and Tytos Blackwood, get to the ridge and round up their noncombatants. Show them we are better than them. No killing, but anyone who draws steel against you,” Brandon looked to the two Rivermen who each carried a cudgel, “broken bones do mend.”

(Braavos – Several Hours Later)

Brandon watched as his eldest daughter slept fitfully curled against the side of his dire wolf. Bane was always good with her, the few months separation since the raid had not changed that. His five name-day old son Rickon slept with his training sword naked across his lap.

“You are brooding husband,” Gwen placed her hands upon his shoulders before pressing her forehead between his shoulder blades, “She will recover in time, at least we were lucky enough to get her back. How many did the Rivermen retrieve?”

“Only a dozen,” Brandon growled, “I have spoken with the adults. This Khal Domo was the ringleader of the Khals who thought it a good idea to attack our camp while the Company was away. This other Khal, Khal Argo held some blood feud with Domo. Argo did not help our daughter out of kindness or a sense of decency. I should have gelded him and sent his manhood back with the rest.”

Gwen turned him to her, “Father warned me about laying with a Stark,” she glared when he made to correct her, “do not go giving me that line about not being a Stark. You were raised by your lord father in Winterfell.”

“Torrhen did most the fatherly stuff when it came to me,” Brandon huffed, “Father was getting on in years by the time I came along, and I was rather young when he died.”

Slapping his chest Gwen carried on, “The Northmen who followed you don’t see you as any less of a Stark. The name does not matter, it is the man. You rallied rebels and outcasts from nearly every region of Westeros. Hells you even got my father to drag me and my siblings from Harlaw. Uncle is still fuming about him breaking my betrothal to my cousin back home.”

“You would have been a terrible Lady of Harlaw,” Brandon smirked before glancing back at their sleeping children, “I should have known it was not safe to leave the camp near Qohor.”

Gwen’s face twisted with disgust, “Are we going to repay them for gifting our people to those Dothraki screamers?”

“My lady,” Brandon gripped the side of her face, before lowering his to hers, “in the name of the Old Gods, the New Gods and the Drowned God. What I plan for Qohor will be sung about for centuries to come. In the future the people of Qohor will not dare speak my name, to fearful I may rise up from my grave to visit it upon them once more.”

Smirking Gwen looked into his eyes, “Everyone back home has their knickers in a twist about some ruddy dragons. They forget the wrath of you wolves.”

“Fire may burn one to ash,” Brandon ran his thumb along her lip, “but ice takes its time.”

(Braavos – 271 AC)

He stood watching the leaders of the Golden Company and the Company of the Rose arguing during their semi-annual conclave. His father said this was how things got done around here. Two groups of Westerosi outcasts sitting around a table and trying to come to an agreement. Rabin Rosewater, the current leader of the Company had called for the conclave to settle a pressing matter.

“Which one of your idiotic gold obsessed elephant humpers did it?” Rosewater growled. Being Rabin’s heir apparent Calen stood at his maternal uncle’s side.

“Uncle,” Calen sighed, “You did not have to bring the elephants into this did you?”

“Silence boy,” Rabin turned back to the commander of the Golden Company, “Which one of you thought it wise to sell a daughter of House Blackfyre to Tyroshi slavers?”

The current captains-general Myles Toyne coughed, “It was a group of conscripts, did not realize they had left camp before we were too far to intercede.”

Rabin slammed his palms on the table and raised his girth from his seat. If anyone doubted Rabin was related to the Manderlys of White Harbor they would just have to meet the man. Calen’s own mother claimed Rabin and Lord Wyman could be twins, they even seemed to gain weight at the same rate to maintain that similarity. Breathing out through his nose Rabin looked at his fellow outcasts and exiles, “We failed to keep Maelys in line, and such we failed in our duties. Good men and women of Westeros suffered for that.”

“I know that Rosewater,” Toyne snarled, “I was there as the Bold cut off both of his monstrous heads, he indicated the standard behind him topped by the two gilded skulls. It was your Company that swore to protect our former homeland not ours. We only agree to the truce of the Golden Rose, so you do not sick your pet Dothraki on us.”

Khal Rhaego growled his displeasure at being called a pet, “The Rose men do not hold a leash to the Dothraki. We are free men. Free to live and die as we please.”

“As long as you do not rape and pillage as your ancestors were known to,” one of the Captains not known to Calen spoke up, “Was it not Ser Calen’s ancestor who painted Vaes Dothrak with the blood of fifty Khals. Taught you savages a lesson in loopholes that one."

Calen knew his ancestor’s story well. Randyll Stark rode into Vaes Dothrak ahead an army of two thousand calvary. When the dosh khaleen warned him to not draw steel within the sacred city of the Dothraki, Randyll smiled as he raised a stone warhammer and unleashed a pack of dire wolves he had brought with him from Westeros.

The overconfidence of the Dothraki proved their undoing as by dawn the next day every slave within Vaes Dothrak was freed and every building either put to the torch or torn down to their foundations. Randyll did not end the humiliation there. He forced the surviving Khals and their blood riders to rebuild their city while their former slaves watched on.

Khal Rhaego spat before speaking, “The Bloody Wolf only did what any man seeking vengeance would. The Khals of that day were fools to think they were safe within Vaes Dothrak, safe behind law of their own religion. The Rose men follow other gods, powerful gods who my ancestors transgressed against. As did yours Qohorik, or is that tree growing from the Black Goat’s temple always there?”

Being chided by the Khal the Qohorik Captain seemed to sink into his chair. Toyne glared at the two Essosi officers before turning back to Rabin, “We will get the girl back, and the deserters will be dealt with. Though, it may not be in that order.”

“I care not how the matter is resolved, just that is done before I sail for White Harbor,” Rabin lowered himself back into his seat which groaned in protest, “My king will not be pleased if I have to report that we lost control of the Blackfyre bloodline. If one of these magisters gets it in his head that he could place a bastard on the throne. We will wish for the coming of the Long Night, for it would be the only think keeping him from unleashing the wrath of the North upon Essos.”

Rhaego stepped back from his place flanking Rabin, “They would cross the poison water for this?”

“They would,” Calen sighed, “We would be found lacking in our duties. No matter of gold or gifts would appease my cousin’s wrath. If you think the Golden Company’s elephants are intimidating, they pale before the North’s mammoths. The cities of Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys would see an end to their prosperity as their slaves were freed and their rulers offered up to the Old Gods.”

The Qohorik Captain swallowed hard having been raised on tales of the sack of Qohor by Brandon Snow. Slavery was an insidious beast that could only be fought a bit each generation. In Brandon Snow’s time it was the raising of Vaes Dothrak and the sack of Qohor. With the coming of the Golden Company who sacked Qohor a second time the fight continued when Braavos bought the services of the both Companies and sent them against Pentos.

“Your tree gods thirst for slaver blood is never quenched,” Rhaego scoffed, “Your people do not convert those you subdue, though you plant your trees wherever you spill the blood of such men.”

Calen’s brow raised at that, “It was Khal Argo who planted the weirwood at the top of your Mother of Mountains. My ancestor only gifted it so your people would remember what happens when you cross a wolf.”

Rabin shook his head, “Will you two be able to work together while I am away?”

“Of course,” Rhaego answered swiftly, “My khalasar is still under contract, and you promised us a great battle we have yet to see.”

With a nod Rabin held up a scroll, “The Sea Lord just sent this over. Seems one of your kinsmen is reverting to the old ways. He attacked some towns near Pentos. I expect his head along with those of his blood riders on platters when I return from Westeros.”

Rhaego spat, “If he takes slaves, he is no kin of mine. What of his khalasar?”

“Any man who is found to have forced himself on a woman,” Rabin scowled, “You no doubt heard of the gift the founder had Randyll deliver to the dosh khaleen after seeing to the gathered Khals of Vaes Dothrak.”

(Vaes Dothrak – 11 AC)

Randyll Stark walked through the still smoldering ruins of the only Dothraki city in the world. The nomads were drunk and unprepared for the fight the Westerosi brought to their door. They had sent their dosh khaleen to greet the arriving calvary. He had laughed as the crones had forbid his men from wearing their swords. He had specifically told his men to switch from blades to hammers and cudgels.

“How dare you spill free man blood here,” turning Randyll spotted one of the crones approaching under guard by his men, “This is a sacred city.”

“Free men?” Randyll feigned ignorance, but dropped the act quickly, “I see no free men here old woman. I see slaves and their slavers. Both are an affront to my gods and the gods of those who follow me.” He ignored the fact the Ironborn kept thralls and salt wives. His aunt Gwen never went into detail but apparently, they were different from slaves.

The woman spat at his feet, “That is what I think of your gods. They have no power here, only our god has power.”

Randyll stepped toward the woman, “I am not here to debate whose gods have the right to exist. You are free to worship whatever god you want. Hells for all I know yours could very well be one of mine. We have many and name none, but their power does reach far and wide.” He turned to where his men were gathering the bodies of the slain Khals and their blood riders, “You are a seeress are you not? Did your god, not give you warnings of my coming?”

“He did,” the old woman fumed, “A great black wolf from beyond the poison water, his jaws clamped against the throat of a stallion. From his breath came a cold wind of death, not even ghost grass survived his passing. You are our end.”

“No,” Randyll sighed, “I will not be your end. There are still other Khals who survived by not being here, most fortunate for them. Though, you will be calling them back of course. If they are not already on their way after seeing the smoke from these fires. They will arrive, they will surrender themselves to my judgement, and if I find them lacking.” He pointed to the gathered corpses, “I will add another body to the pile.”

“Will you slaughter our sons and grandsons as well,” the woman spat in fury, “Or allow them to grow to avenge their fathers, bothers, uncles, and cousins.”

“Every boy old enough to ride will be coming with me,” Randyll’s brow furrowed, “For every life the Dothraki took from my people. Your sons will serve a year with the Company of the Rose. Every rider who spilt the blood of my people will serve the remainder of their lives as prisoners of Braavos.” Randyll motioned to a pile of caskets, “and every man who used theirs to assault another will lose theirs.”

Confused the woman approached the nearest casket and lifted the lid. She swiftly dropped the lid close as she backed away from the sight and smell, “Why did you bring those?”

“As a lesson,” Randyll turned to continue surveying the decimation, “Your people have ravaged Essos since before the Doom of Valyria. You think yourselves superior to all other peoples because of your skill with horses. A century ago, the Dragon lords probably felt they were the greatest of peoples. I do not relish in bringing your people low, I do so because one of your Khals thought he had the right to rip my cousin’s innocence away. That a child was his to do with as he pleased.”

“You slew and desecrated the remains of our people,” the woman began weeping, “Is it not enough you have denied them their places in the god’s kalasar.”

Randyll turned to her, “You misunderstand,” he indicated the caskets, “Those men still draw breath, the ones who admitted to having committed rape. They are now eunuchs and should be arriving in a few days with the bones of their horses upon their backs. My riders were impatient to get here so we could not wait for them. For such swift riders your people sure to walk slow.”

The woman paled, “My son,” she bowed her head, “He is known as Argo was his khalasar among those you already destroyed?”

“It was,” Randyll was not cruel so quickly continued as the woman began to sob, “but for the service he rendered to my kin he was spared any punishment.”

“What?” the woman looked confused, “What service?”

“Khal Argo killed Khal Domo before my uncle could, he also placed my cousin under his protection. For these deeds he and his blood riders were spared the Bolton bastard’s knife. Though, in accordance with the laws of Braavos they would still need to be punished in some form.” Randyll huffed, “So they are now guest of the Company of the Rose. Your son is kept in chains while his blood riders serve as scouts. If they try and free their Khal, well we have repaid our debts by sparing them once. We do not give third chances.”

“What became of my grandson and Argo’s wife?” the old woman glanced at the caskets worriedly.

Randyll sighed, “Your grandson is my uncle’s page and his mother accompanies her husband in his house arrest in Braavos. They were all of good health last I saw them.”

(Two moon turns later)

Three weeks after Vaes Dothrak was turned to ash and rubble the last Khal arrived. The dosh khaleen had revealed that he was the last Khal unaccounted for. Khal Argo’s mother had revealed that a few splinter khalasars were still unaccounted for but would submit to their conqueror’s demands.

Randyll stood before the assembled Khals and their blood riders, all bound and chained together. It had been humorous to watch his men disarm and bind these men. The dosh khaleen ordering them not to resist, using the rotting pile of their fellows to emphasize their situation. Turning to Khal Argo’s mother he spoke, “Tell them that I have no time nor patience for slavers. That all slaves are free, and that the Dothraki are to remain within the Dothraki Sea and never trouble the Free Cities again.”

With a nod the woman translated his words adding that the invaders held to old and powerful gods but did not demand they bow to their gods. One of the Khals barked out a question and she turned to tell Randyll, though she feared his response, “He ask why we should bow to such a small force.”

Randyll turned to where one of his dire wolves sat, “Bring me that man’s horse.”

With a nod to a pair of Dothraki the orders were carried out. The Khal who asked the question was confused as he recognized his horse. With a whistle and head jerk from Randyll the dire wolf leapt onto the horse’s back. The horse struggled by went down as two more wolves joined the first.

“Tell them that the next one who asks such a question will be on their horse when I feed it to my friends.” The rest of the Dothraki quickly dropped to their knees as a dozen more dire wolves moved into sight, “You would not believe how hard it is to feed these guys. While not as fond of horsemeat as your people, it still fills that empty void they have instead of stomachs.”

After some more back and forth translating one of the Khals asked a reasonable question. Argo’s mother turned to him, “Khal Mengo asks what it is you want? You could have destroyed Vaes Dothrak as you have and then been on your way long before any of them had arrived. Yet you waited and captured them all, only maiming or killing those who resisted or tried to escape. What is your goal?”

Randyll nodded and motioned for the Khal to stand. The man was hesitant, half expecting to see his horse being brought out, but was surprised when a large Westerosi approached and freed him from the chain. Randyll motioned for him to approach, and began speaking as he walked forward, “What I want, and my goal are the same. Peace, and safety for my people. We are exiles from our lands, forced from our homes and families by a man who wished conquest. My father protected our people and their freedom at a cost. He swore an oath of brotherhood with the conqueror, and that brother then slaughtered women and children. Then he condemned one of my brothers for drunken comments.” Randyll shook his head, “I will not force your people to bow to me, I do not come here as a conqueror. My uncle believes there is no reasoning with your people. For the crimes committed against his daughter, and the murders of two of his children. He would see the Dothraki regulated to songs, and dusty tomes written my learned men. He would ship your sons across the poison water to our Wall where they would only ride horses rarely. Your daughters would be given to the septons who followed us to start a new order of silent sisters.”

He gave the woman a moment to translate his words before continuing, “I questioned him though, asked him if there were not a less bloody option. So, we devised a plan. You were each drawn by rumors to different patches of your domain far from here. Only those with small khalasars remained, and you saw the work I made of them. Your blades are less effective against plate armor, and even less so when kept far from your person.” He hefted his warhammer, “I did not draw steel against them as you can see. Though, I did spill their blood I admit, but to me those are not free men. They were slavers, slavers who were slaves of their own arrogance.”

Khal Mengo listed as the old woman translated, though he did not truly need the translation. Like Khal Argo he had come to know the common tongue, as his wife had learned Dothraki. Once the woman silent he looked about, seeing his wife among the other women watching, “I have taken slaves, gifts from other Khals weaker than me, from the city men who fear the thunder of my kalasar’s hooves. Yet before your men dragged me from my horse and clapped me in iron I none taken by my men have been mistreated. My wife was once a slave, taken by one of my blood riders and gifted to me. She speaks your tongue and taught it to me.”

“She has taught you well it seems,” Randyll smirked, “Your wife must not have been among those taken from our camp. Is she here?”

The Khal nodded and motioned to her, stepping forward from the crowd revealed she was pregnant, “My lord please, my husband is a good man, he only does what is necessary for our people.”

“Your people?” Randyll fumed, “Were you Dothraki forced into slavery then learned common before being gifted to him?”

The woman shook her head, “My name is Mensa Greenhand, my kin once ruled the Reach as Gardner Kings.”

“My lady,” Randyll nodded, “I was not aware any of your kin survived. How did you come to be here?”

The Khal spoke, “She told me she was pregnant, her first husband a cousin of hers. Her kin sent her to a place cold the old town, but after they were slain, she fled on the first ship crossing the poison water.” Mensa was allowed to approach her husband, “Pirates took the ship she was on and sold her. She knows not what happened to her daughter, she was taken away from her after she was born.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Randyll sighed, “you speak on your husband’s behalf unsolicited so I will be merciful in my judgment.”

A chuckle ran through the chained Khals. Argo’s mother translated, “They are insinuating that Mengo needed to be protected from the wolf by his wife.”

“Bring their wives forward and see how many of them will vouch for their good character,” Randyll growled silencing the group as his words were translated. Suffice it to say none of the other Khals were so loved by their wives.

(A moon’s turn later)

Khal Mengo watched as his fellow Khals toiled at restoring the buildings of Vaes Dothrak. Sitting upon his horse surrounded by his blood riders and his wife riding her own mare. It had taken a few beheadings and at least one man literally being fed to the wolves to get the Dothraki to do something they had never done. They were building, with stone and wood. Mengo had been given the task of acquiring materials, with the caveat that he do so without drawing blood or taking slaves.

“We could hire workmen to assist,” Mensa spoke as she watched a shoddily done wall fall nearly crushing the men who had been working on it, “I am sure Lord Randyll will agree it would be safer if hired skilled laborers to build our homes.”

Mengo shook his head, “He said the work must be done by Dothraki hands and our hands alone. I will not break my oath to see the work finished.” Randyll had departed with three hundred of his men two days after freeing Mengo and telling them to rebuild with their own hands. Some of the Khals had argued that they could toss the yoke of the invaders. It was the dosh khaleen who put an end to that, revealing they were not slaves of the invaders, but prisoners of sell swords sent to punish them.

“My Khal,” his blood rider Motho spoke up, “The khaleesi may have a point. We could still build with our own hands, but…hire…someone to instruct us how best to. Some of the freed slaves remain as observers, perhaps one or two of them know how.”

Mengo hummed, “It seems to skirt the edge of what he told us to do.”

“He said build with your own hands,” Mensa took one of his in hers, “He did not say you could not ask for help. Many of you think the remaining freed slaves are just here to watch you fail. Zeggo and Loso have been seen conversing with the freed men, and their sections of the city are progressing faster than many of the others.”

“Is this so?” Mengo looked to his blood riders who all nodded, “They have both put in requests for more materials and have offered you their sons as ko so we might send out more parties to gather.”

“Zeggo is so far along he has been able to send some of his own kalasar to assist Khal Dhako in his area.” Motho sighed, “We are progressing my Khal, but we need to corporate more. I think that is the Black Wolf’s meaning. I heard him talking to your aunt before he left. He told her we cannot simply wait for a legend to fulfill itself, that we must push ahead least we be swept aside by the winter winds.”

Mengo looked down upon the city as the horn calling and end to the days work sounded, “Tell the other Khals to meet me in my tent. Send for the large Westrosi, the one with an angry giant on his shield.”

It did not take long for the Khals to come to Mengo’s summons. Khal Horro was overall the leader of the Khal in charge of the actual building. Khal Qano was in charge of keeping the peace and coordinating with the Westerosi garrison in protecting the freed men from their former masters and the Dothraki from their former slaves.

As the man Mensa called an Umber entered the tent with a glare, Mengo nodded to everyone, “I thank you for all coming so swiftly. Only a month has past and we already have a fifth of the city rebuilt. Though, only half of that is in a state we can safely inhabit.”

Qano chuckled, “I am comfortable in my tent,” he turned to Umber, “Your sister does not seem to mind it.”

The man’s knuckled cracked as his fist clenched, “Hope she shatters your hips screamer.”

Mengo’s brow rose at that, Lord Umber’s sister was of a much smaller build than the giant. She and Qano had apparently develop something of an attraction. He still remembered the morning Qano ran into his tent to hide from his lover’s enraged brother. He had talked the man down from butchering or maiming his nephew, though the timely arrival of the sister saved them all.

“Brother, once you give this blessing, she desires we can be married,” Qano elbowed him, “You know Dothraki weddings are quite entertaining.”

Mengo feared allowing Lord Umber near one of their wedding ceremonies. The man was vocal about his dislike for the Dothraki comparing them to the wildlings of his homeland, who apparently had something to do with exile. Horro paled apparently having a similar thought, “Qano, you and this Westerosi girl should wed in her people’s way,” the old man grimaced, “I am sure the dosh khaleen would agree.”

Qano huffed, “Fine, find me one of the white trees and you can all cower before my khaleesi.”

“It is a weir wood tree,” Umber growled, “and the only reason I want to see you near one is my blade parting your filthy head from your shoulders.”

Khal Zeggo grimaced, though he did not understand the words he could understand their intent. He indicated the pair before speaking, “Was it wise to call them both to this meeting?”

With a shrug Mengo began, “I intend to hire some of the freed men to act as consultants on construction. We have had too many accidents and wasted too much of our limited resources. I know a few of you have been conversing with them on this matter. If I am to do this it must be in agreement with the entirety of this group.”

“In my defense,” Khal Zeggo glanced to Umber who was still listening to Qano translate Mengo’s words, “I was approached by one of the freed men who used to be a builder here. He was born a slave in Vaes Dothrak he and the others who remain have always lived here.”

Khal Loso growled, “We need no help, we will get this done ourselves. We would be done faster if some would swallow their pride.”

“Do not acts so high Loso,” Khal Temmo huffed, “It was your men who failed to properly secure that wall today. Three of my riders including one of my blood riders are now under the care of healers.”

“Had your men brought us the fasteners we called for yesterday it would have been secured,” Loso stood in challenge but quickly sat when the large Westerosi man cleared his throat.

Khal Ogo, the eldest of the remaining Khals leaned forward, “Perhaps we need not ask for help.” This drew the attention of the others, “Zeggo said some of the former slaves remained because they have no other home. Many of their fathers are riders of our khalasars. Though, unacknowledged and never named Dothraki, they are still our people.”

“They do not ride they are not Dothraki,” Khal Jommo snarled, “They are no better than this Westerosi filth who acts as though he is our master.”

They had no word for goaler like the only word for prisoner was the same word for slave. Mengo sighed, “Silence Jommo,” he looked to Ogo, “What are you say old man?”

“Simple,” Ogo frowned, “We do not hire former slaves to advise us on building. We ask our own people skilled at the task to lend their hands to the work.”

Mengo watched as Qano finished translating for Umber, the massive Northman snorted, “Finally one of you proved to have something between your ears besides hot air. The sooner you get to building this shithole the sooner me and mine will leave. By now Snow is besieging Qohor and my men are missing out on some good old fashion looting.”

This surprised the Khals, “Why is your leader attacking Qohor?” Loso asked after hearing the man’s words translated.

Umber fumed, “It were the Qohorik who offered up our people to some of your Khals in offerings to spare them. The North remembers, and we never forgive.”

(Week Later)

Building had progressed at a steady pace once the freed men threw their lot in to help. The dosh khaleen made a big grand announcement called the freed men the Walking Dothraki. The freed men were also started on lessons with bow and arakhs. While the taboo against carrying swords and shedding blood within Vaes Dothrak would remain, an armed guard would greet any visiting force outside the city limits.

Jommo was the only Khal adamantly against arming the former slaves, though he did have a few who shared his doubts. Most were found Jommo and his rants about armed slaves less important than a more concerning matter. Word had come from Qohor, the city had fallen in a bloodless siege. While the siege had been bloodless the aftermath was not, not one magister of the city remained. Also, Qohor had an interesting new feature, a weir wood tree had been planted in the remains of the Black Goat’s central temple, just behind the alter with the goat god’s idol head affixed to the sapling’s trunk.

Mengo watched as his nephew bowed before Umber, word had come, and the Company of the Rose was leaving Vaes Dothrak. Lord Umber and his sister would ride with the coming dawn to regroup with their people, taking with them the last of the freed men who wished to leave Vaes Dothra. Qano pulled his braid tight, his action mimicked by his two blood riders, with their daggers they each swiftly cut their braids.

Qano tossed the braid at Umber’s feet, “I abandon my place as Khal, I abandon my people. I swear my life to your cause until such time you see me worthy of your sister.”

Mensa had coached Qano for three days on the words to say. Qano had told his blood riders that they could join Mengo’s khalasar or find their own paths, but both men chose to go into self-exile with him. With this one action Mengo found himself the head of one of the largest remaining khalasars, as two thirds of Qano’s riders joined him. The rest would find other Khals to follow, though a few had chosen to join Qano in exile.

Glaring at the young Khal, Umber crossed his arms, “You are a relentless little shit aren’t you.” Without another word Umber stalked off to see to his men.

With a roll of her eyes his sister helped Qano to his feet, “Do not mistake him, he is quite impressed with what you have done. He is just to pigheaded to say so himself.”

Mengo chuckled, “You have not chosen an easy path Qano, you will not join your father when you die.”

“I can live with that uncle,” Qano sighed, “You were always a better father; besides, I may get a chance to see him in this life. If what the Black Wolf said is true, then he is in Braavos and that is our destination.”

“Yes, that is true,” Mengo crossed his arms, “If you see my sister and your brother, tell them I await the day we all ride together again.”

Qano nodded, “I will see they are sent back, though I will have to miss that ride.”

“Nonsense,” Argo’s mother approached, “Though you will be exiled from Vaes Dothrak as the sun sets on the morrow, you are still Dothraki.”

Taking his lover’s hand Qano turned to their readied horses, “A final ride through the city, then I should see what task your brother has for me and mine.”

Lady Umber smirked, “Oh, dear Qano, my brother placed you under my command, so I will be in charge of your duties until we rejoin the main force.”

Qano gulped, “Mercy.”

(Lands near Pentos – 271 AC)

Calen watched as the rogue Khal crawled away from him towards his dying mare. The man wished to die with his horse, who was he to deny him his last request. Rhaego though was of a different mind, bringing his arakh down on the man’s neck severing it cleanly, “Were you going to just leave him to bleed out Calen?”

Glancing at the Dothraki, Calen shrugged, “Perhaps, it would be fitting after the savagery he has committed. Did you ride down his blood riders?”

“Aye,” Rhaego wiped his blade before picking up the severed head, “Two of them were felled by our bowmen, the other three were taken by my own blood riders. We have also captured four ko, they say the others all died in the battle.”

Calen cleaned his blade before sheathing it, “Have scouting parties run down any Dothraki who fled the fight. They are to be brought back to camp alive if possible. The contract was for complete destruction of the khalasar.”

Rhaego snickered, “Who fled? Were you not watching the same battle as I dear cousin? We caught them with their pants down, quite literally in many cases. Only a descendent of the Bloody Black Wolf would think of an ambush like this.

There was little fault in Rhaego’s logic. Calen had fooled the doomed Khal into riding into a gully where they had set a false camp. The rogue Dothraki charged into an empty camp, then arrogantly thought the camp defenders had fled in fear of them. They had eaten the food and drank the ale intentionally left for them. A mistake most did not live long enough to regret as just as the symptoms of the poisons began the Company of the Rose revealed themselves.

Returning to their real camp Calen looked over the prisoners and those freed from the khalasar. His men were still separating the two groups. Walking to the group of Dothraki women he switched to their language, “Did your khal have a khaleesi?”

A young woman no older than ten and seven stepped forward, “My mother died last year, her horse was felled by Pentoshi nobles who attacked her.”

Calen turned to a Pentoshi irregular, part of a contingent sent out by the city, “How long has this khalasar been attacking the area?”

“The girl speaks lies my lord,” the Pentoshi spat, “The horse loving savage would say anything hoping to safe her kin, too bad he was already made a head shorter.”

Calen stepped closer to the man, “For your information my grandmother is Dothraki, so watch your tongue. Now answer my question.”

“Beg pardon my lord,” the Pentoshi back down, “but the wench is speaking untruths. The magisters of Pentos are good honest men. None would dirty themselves with one of this lot, and how would they. Khaleesi are kept secure within the khalasar with at least one blood rider protecting them at all times.”

“Not always,” Calen sighed as he turned back to the young woman, “Your mother was pregnant was she not?”

The woman nodded, “She rode to Pentos to see a healer about some herbs. Her horse was felled on the way back to our camp. The blood rider with her and the other guard were also slain.”

Sputtering the Pentoshi spoke, “Her tale is getting more outlandish, some nobles just happen to ambush them and defeat eleven Dothraki riders.”

Calen frowned, “Interesting? How could you know there were eleven riders guarding her mother?”

“What? I was just guessing,” the Pentoshi began backing up, “I just assumed there were eleven of them.”

“A good guess,” Calen signaled to his men who disarmed the other Pentoshi, “Thirteen is horribly unlucky number to the Dothraki, and including the khaleesi that would make twelve. Yet the girl never said how many guards were with her mother.” Calen turned back to the girl, “You said the Pentoshi who attacked your mother were nobles. How do you know this?”

The young woman lowered her gaze, “There were ten and two horses in the party, but ten and four people. My mother always kept a Walking Dothraki lady, and I was with them.”

“What” the Pentoshi blurted, “She lies, we would have seen two more women.”

Calen growled as he unsheathed his sword, “I was wondering why Pentos sent unsolicited reinforcements.”

(Edge of Dothraki Sea – Three Weeks Later)

Calen and Rhaego watch the approaching khalasar as its riders easily join ranks with their forces. Khal Bharbo rode up to them dismounting to stand before them, “Word reached me of what happened at Pentos. You are returning the survivors.”

“We would bring them to Vaes Dothrak, but for obvious reasons we cannot,” Rhaego fumed.

Bharbo chuckled as he clapped them each on a shoulder, “You are both blood of my blood, you are welcome to the sacred city whenever you are ready to return.”

Calen remained silent while Rheago huffed, “I will return when my contract is up Uncle, but you may need to knock some sense into this one’s thick skull. He plans to take up the leadership of the Rose men.”

Bharbo snorted, “If he wishes to do so he must come to Vaes Dothrak and climb the mountain. Sit beneath that tree of the Old Gods and get their blessing,” he tightened his hold on Calen’s shoulder before looking him hard in the eyes, “If they do not grant their blessing, then you embrace your Dothraki blood and let another with wolf’s blood seek their blessing.”

“When was the last time a dire wolf was even seen in the Dothraki Sea?” Calen glared.

“Yesterday,” Bharbo said flatly, “Drogo saw it while out hunting. Said it looked into his soul, what it saw he did not know. I do, it saw an equal, one who was not prey. For if it had seen him to be wanting or deficient my son would be resting within its stomach.”

Calen snorted, “Or it was just not hungry.”

“I like my version better,” Bharbo chuckled, “So did you make those Pentoshi dogs squirm before giving them the justice they so rightly deserved?”

Rheago huffed, “The ones sent to silence anyone who could have revealed their wrong doings have been dealt with. We await the decision of the Sea Lord of Braavos on what is to be done about the magisters of Pentos.”

“I imagine the Sea Lord is furious, but I doubt he will allow us to personally be involved with the matter further,” Calen fumed, “He will not like that he was used to aid in covering up such a heinous crime. Rabin is going to be thunderous when he returns to learn we were used as well. The Company of the Rose has already pulled all support from Pentos, I would not suffer my people being anywhere near that filth.”

Bharbo swatted his back, “Then the Company should return to their home within Essaria. Rest and see their kinfolk, it has been three years since you marched to join Rabin.”

Essaria once known as Vaes Khadokh, the city of corpses, was a ruin turned into a hidden settlement. Only those born within the Company of the Rose and Dothraki Khals and dosh kahleen knew of its existence. Like old Mole Town near the Wall in Westeros, Essaria was a subterranean city dug out beneath the ruins of the former Valyrian freehold. Most Dothraki fear the place due to the constant pillars of smoke rising from vent shafts from cookfires and smiths. It always amused him when new khals arrived to prove their bravery by entering Vaes Khadokh, the astonishment on their faces especially when they learn of the tunnel that ran from Essaria to Vaes Dothrak.

“You know we can only return once we have put down our swords for good,” Calen reminded him, “young men march forth to seek their future. Men return once they have had their fill, to pick up the hammer to forge or to help train the next generation of warriors.”

Bharbo frowned, “Then put down your sell sword blade and pick up an arakh, your father would wish more for you than the life of a paid killer.”

“If that were so he should have lived long enough to tell me so himself,” Calen turned from the khal and headed for his own horse, “Until we meet again.”

(Pentos – 271 AC)

Varys hummed as his mice scurried about depositing their findings before running to the meal the servants had prepped for them. It was a veritable feast compared to the gruel that they were commonly granted. Illyrio had scored a windfall thanks to his connections with the Prince, who thankfully was spared the sacrificial knife by the timely arrival of the Company of the Rose. Their Braavosi overlords had been timely in letting loose the savage might of the Westerosi sell sword company with the greatest legend and reputation within Essos.

“Varys, how does the day find you my friend,” Illyrio chuckles as he enters the room, “Have our little mice enjoyed their reward for such dutiful work?”

“They are my friend,” Varys smirked slightly, “and I do believe it has encouraged them to work even harder.” He directs the magister attention to the pile of scrap paper on the table, “Even a few of the mice I have rarely heard from have popped back up with tantalizing tidbits.”

“Good,” Illyrio frowned, “Were you able to get the girl?”

Varys did not hide his revulsion, “We did, but I had to have our men killed afterwards. The Golden Company knows we took her from their manse in Braavos. She was taken by my man to Tyrosh to keep up the pretense she was sold to slavers. They will arrive by ship in a matter of days.”

“Well done Varys,” the magister hummed to himself, “What of her kinfolk? What has been their reaction?”

Schooling his features, the eunuch deadpanned, “They are distraught at the loss of their daughter of course, but I am sure they can console themselves with the fact the other is safe. I would not wish to bring the Company of the Rose down on our city if we had taken the elder daughter.”

Mopatis huffed, “No, but some other idiots may have gone and done so anyways. I just came from a council meeting, the guards sent to aid the Company of the Rose returned.”

“So soon?” Varys tittered, “I would think a khalasar of that strength would take more than a fortnight to route.”

Shaking his head Illyrio grabbed the wine from Varys table and poured himself a cup, “Oh, the khalasar was dealt with swiftly. The Rose’s captain, Calen Eaststark lured them into a trap and showed them the mercy that company is so lauded for. No, our country men did not return under their own power, at least not all of them. A dozen men returned pulling carts laden with crates. Their comrades’ heads dipped in oil and runes carved in their foreheads. A learned man said the runes translate to ‘bad faith’ a common epitaph for those who commit fraud or try to break oaths.”

“That is the Company of the Rose’s calling card. I take the survivors were also likewise branded,” Varys frowned, “What did their emissary to the council have to say?”

“Nothing,” Illyrio spat, “The man took one look at the heads, spat on the council room floor and left. I heard he returned to the manse we granted him, gathered his men and rode for the gate. He was seen heading for Braavos joined by a column from their camp beyond our walls. We had guards check; the camp is gone.”

Varys froze as chill hit him that had nothing to do with the weather, which was otherwise quite pleasant, “That bodes ill, has the Prince sent word to the Sea Lord about this? If we are to survive, we will have to make him see the Westerosi are dangerous, that they have gone rogue and broke their contract.”

“That would be in vain,” the magister hummed, “The Rose is smarter than that.”

Realizing he had panicked Varys calmed himself and reassessed the situation, “You are right, they would have sent word to the Sea Lord before delivering the message. Who were the magisters who supplied the guards for the reinforcements?”

“A cabal of lesser men who I never cared enough about to learn the names of,” Mopatis glowered at his wine, “They brought the idea to the Prince outside of council and acted without a vote. By the time we learned they were dispatched, we could not recall them without looking like fools.”

Varys turned to a bookshelf where he kept coded journals of various squeaks that seemed useful, but yet to reveal their true value. Turning back to a day almost a year past he tapped the page, “I see, that would explain it,” he tapped another entry, “yes this one two,” flipping a couple pages he reread a couple lines, “now it is starting to make sense.”

Illyrio’s brow rose, as it was rare for Varys to use his journals. The journals were encoded so only Varys knew what was written within. He had once tried to read a page, but the scrawling looked like that of a mad man. It had very nearly driven Illyrio mad just looking at it. Keeping his eyes away from the page Illyrio leaned forward, “What have you figured out?”

A malevolent smile graced the bald man’s face, “You are about to make the Prince a very happy man my friend. In one fell swoop you will be ensuring his good fortune and securing your place as a most beloved citizen.” Snapping the journal closed, and returning it, to its place on the shelf, Varys swiftly pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing orders. As he finished one, he would tear it from the page, calling on one of the mice to swiftly deliver it to one of their agents. Stepping back the magister allowed his friend to work, sure the eunuch would reveal all in due time.

(Winterfell – 10 AC)

Aegon rode beside Brandon as the hunt moved into the Wolf’s Wood. With Torrhen unable to ride it was up to his son to act in his stead. Though, as this was the Queen’s Hunt, Rhaenys rode before them. The three winners from the archery competition had already moved off to scout for appropriate game. He noticed the heir of the Norther Crown watching his banners interactions with Rhaenys closely. If he were not the future King of the North, he would suggest Visenya name him to the royal guard she was forming after pestering him about for over a year now.

“If you were another man, I would question your interest in my wife,” Aegon teased the younger man quietly so not to be heard by others.

Startled Brandon turned to him, “Pardon uncle, but after that fall she took during the champions round.”

The younger man had spoke so quickly Aegon doubted he had even heard himself. It was a strange feeling, to be so accepted by another, to be seen as family though you shared no blood. Aenys had cousins who shared his blood, Orys sons and daughters. Yet they did not share the closeness that he spied when he looked in on his son before departing King’s Landing. Aenys was happier than he had seen him in months playing with Brendon Starks sons, even some of signs of the boy’s failing health had vanished.

Knowing better than to make too much of Brandon’s slip, the dragon lord chuckled, “She is not made of glass Brandon, she can take a hit.” Aegon grimaced as he continued, “She had to, our lord father was not a harsh man, but neither was he a kind one. I was always intended to marry Visenya, and many claimed I married Rhaenys our of lust or that I favor her. This is untrue, I love my sisters both for their strengths and their weaknesses.”

Brandon shook his head, “You do not have to defend yourself to me your grace. We Starks have also practiced polygamy from time to time. Grandfather wed two of his wives while still married to the first.”

“I was aware, father attended one of those weddings when he was a lad,” Aegon shook his head, “He did not understand why your grandfather needed so many from other families when he had a perfectly good sister.”

Blanching at that Brandon shook with suppressed revulsion, “Nope, did not need that image in my head. Great aunt Jenna was still alive when I was little.”

“She was?” Aegon hummed, “Which house did she marry into?”

“None,” Brandon frowned, “She was supposed to wed an Umber, but a month before the betrothal announcement she turned up at the gate heavy with child. She had been staying with kin following grandfather’s second marriage, but they sent her back as soon as she started showing.”

Aegon was surprised, “Another Snow? Did he fall with your father’s brothers?”

“No,” Brandon looked towards the north, “Grandfather raised him beside father, but once he was fourteen sent him to the Wall. I know he visited from time to time, it was he who brought word of Uncle Cain vanishing beyond the Wall. Old Gods willing we put his to body to rest when we drove the Others back.”

This matter drew Aegon’s curiosity as Torrhen had not mentioned this cousin, “Was he still alive while we were at the Wall? I would think he would have chosen to aid your father.”

Brandon’s brow rose at that, “He was with me and Rand, said father was a grown man who could watch his own back. He was not going to let a pair of green boys wet behind the ears go stumbling around the Haunted Forrest on our own.”

A horn in the distance drew their attention as the hunt moved towards swiftly towards it.

Later that evening the hunt settled into camp where servants were already preparing the two stags that had been brought down by Rhaenys and Brandon. Along with the boar felled by Lord Manderly, a wild auroch brought down by the combined effort of three Mormonts, and a rather plump hare Lord Umber slew by accident.

Aegon shook his head when a servant brought him another helping of the rabbit stew they had fixed as an appetizer. Torrhen had remained at camp with several lords who had not secured places in the actual hunt. Lord Umber had been blindsided when he learned he advanced to the champions round following Lord Glover being disinherited. Though, it probably would have saved him from the ridicule of felling the rabbit by blindly throwing a stone after losing the stag Brandon felled.

Turning at the sound of Rhaenys laugh he noticed her speaking to Lady Tallhart. The Lady’s father was too elderly to attend a hunt, and her brother while a finalist in the heir’s round he had broken his foot during the champions round. Unable to attend the hunt he had sent his sister in his stead. While not an avid hunter or warrior herself, the young Lady of Torrhen’s Square was acting as one of Rhaenys’ pages, the honor given to the seven winners of the heirs round.

The stoic wife of Bran Stark of Moat Cailin stood at Rhaenys’ shoulder. Fran Stark lost to Rhaenys during the champions round, in what the Northern lords were calling the best bout of the melee. The spear wife now stood as his sister’s own guard for the rest of their visit, a task that was most likely given by her good father.

“She handled herself well today, did she not husband,” Startled Aegon turned to find Visenya standing at his side.

Blinking rapidly, he spat out, “I thought you were in Dorne?”

Smirking she directed his attention to where Torrhen was sitting, now with a teary eyed Deria knelt at his side, “When Rand told us what had happened to his father, we decided to come see with our own eyes.” The Queen’s brows furrowed, “We should have left those wildlings to their fate.”

Aegon shook his head, “We can not blame an entire people for the actions of one man, or should we punish all of Dorne for Lord Uller’s actions?”

“I see your point my love,” Visenya crossed her arms, “I saw Balerion and Meraxes at Moat Cailin on our way here. I sent Vhagar to join them after she dropped us off here.”

Aegon paled, “Were they behaving themselves?”

Rolling her eyes the Queen waved the question off, “They are acting like hatchlings. Meraxes has claimed the area within the keep as hers, while your black dread is stalking about outside the walls and poking his head between the towers. You will need to send supplies of fresh britches for the guards less you lose young Bran’s support.”

“Do you expect Vhagar to bring a sense of dignity and decorum to them?” Aegon chuckled, “She will doubtlessly join Balerion in teasing Meraxes just as relentlessly as we did Rhaenys as children.”

With a huff Visenya turned from him, “You teased her, everything I did was to give her a backbone.”

“Viseny?” Rhaenys rushed into their sister’s arms, “You should have sent word you were coming; you missed a wonderous hunt.”

“Did I?” Visenya smirked, “I left Deria at Winterfell and flew out to watch from above. The great thing about this dreary northern weather. Our dragons do not cast such ominous shadows.”

Rhaenys smiled, “Well, I am glad you came all this way, but as you can see, I can handle the Northern lords just as well as you.”

“There was never any doubt of that dear sister,” Viseny placed a firm hand on her sister’s cheek, “Perhaps next year you and I will do the progress ourselves and leave Aegon to his own devices in King’s Landing.”

The younger queen’s smile turned to a smirk as she glanced to her husband, “You know he will just get bord and follow us. Aegon always did have a short attention span.”

Aegon feigned being wounded as Viseny nodded in agreement, “Yes, we will have to begin in the North and work our way down to Dorne, then Torrhen can keep him stuck up here after Balerion figures out Moat Cailin is large enough for Meraxes or Vhagar but not him.” Visenya then motions towards the lords who have started to take notice to her presence, “Now sister you must introduce me to all these fine northern lords and ladies.”

Watching the pair move through the lords and ladies Aegon took note that Visenya was discreetly maintaining physical contact with their younger sibling. A hand on the shoulder, clasping their hands together, or standing so their hips were touching. Swallowing his wine, he stood to approach Torrhen and Deria.

The Dornish woman stood and bowed at his approach, “Your grace.”

“Tell me you had no inkling of what Lord Uller was planning,” Aegon kept his voice lowered.

Glaring daggers she looked him in the eye, “None your grace, if I had I would send warning and called for my stepson much sooner.”

“Where is Rand?” Aegon looked around, “Vhagar could carry all three of you, why would he not come as well?”

Torrhen huffed, “Wolves do not fly, leave the sky for your dragons and suns.”

Nodding her agreement at the comment Deria smirked, “Besides, he said something about making sure his little brother was a real northerner. Who am I to demand he come back north with me when it was I who summoned him in the first place?”

Aegon calmed slightly, “What did Uller think to gain from murdering my wife?”

“A swifter death than the one the gods were granting him,” Deria picked up a travel bag and after rummaging a bit pulled out a stack of papers loosely bound together with string, “I had his maester copy the relevant passages for you, but Uthor was dying of some wasting sickness. The maester had yet to finalize a diagnosis before Uthor died of acute blood loss due to Rand bashing his head repeatedly into a wall.” She looked to Torrhen, “That boy of yours is definitely ruled by his emotions.”

“He was dying, so he wanted to take my sister with him?” Aegon was confused.

Deria shook her head negatively, “He wanted to spark a war, wanted his legacy to be a clarion call for Dornish independence.” Before Aegon could interrupt she halted him, “I know we are independent in the since my father still rules as the Prince of Dorne and I am his heir. That the Dornish are as free as we can be. What Uthor wanted was a return to the way things were before the oath, before the conquest. He is not alone in his feelings, yet in his betrayal none stood with him.”

“It has only been a decade since the conquest,” Torrhen spoke, his eyes fixed on the fire, “There is bound to be an rough path here and there. We must provide a unified front before the lords who know of the oath. Before the rest we must keep up pretenses least we have half a dozen lord paramount clamoring for their own sovereignty to be restored. At least the Tyrells and Tullys should be happy with their lots. Lannister and Arryn though would jump at the chance.”

Aegon frowned, “You did not mention Orys or Greyjoy.”

“Orys may have changed his name, but he is still your brother,” Torrhen snorted, “In a generation or two I might start looking at Baratheons as a threat, but the current generation are unquestionable. Greyjoy though is an enigma; I am sure the Ironborn will not stay silent forever. Should get the western coastal regions fortified in case of an invasion.”

Agreeing silently, and planning to send word to Lannister, Tyrell, and Orys to secure their coastal towns. The King looked to where Visenya and Rhaenys had made it to where Brandon Stark was holding court with some of the younger lords. Turning back to Torrhen he gave a curt nod, “We did not forge this kingdom in a day, nor did we start the work. The road to this day began thousands of years ago when the First Men first set foot on this continent. We are merely shapers molding the work of our forefathers into what comes next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Point One: Brandon Snow did as Aegon told him and gathered those of like mind, but unlike in canon he also gathered people from other regions. Namely the Riverlands and Iron Isles. Since this scene occurs in 10 AC, the oldest his eldest child could be would be nine, meaning he and Gwen married before leaving Westeros and she was pregnant during the trip to Essos.  
> -Point Two: Randyll Stark’s invasion of Vaes Dothrak. While twisting some of the Dothraki laws a bit, he really does not care. While you might question him taking the city with only two thousand calvary, I will bluntly point out it is stated they lured most of the khalasars away. As for Randyll’s nickname. Dothraki call him the Black Wolf, in Westeros he is known as the Bloody Wolf, in modern Essos they combine the two names into the Bloody Black Wolf.  
> -Point Three: Illyrio and Varys, we have a few years before Varys comes to Westeros and he is much younger here. His network is a bit different since his main focus is only Pentos at this point. Thus, the journal where he keeps a record of some information that looks potentially useful, but otherwise is trivial at the time. Illyrio is trying to get ahold of the Blackfyre descendant, but his intentions are still focused on Essos at this point.  
> -Point Four: Calen Eaststark, heir of a cadet Stark family that is formed by the descendants of Randyll Stark. They are often officers in the Company of the Rose. Calen is part Dothraki, this is his major issue due to the conflict due to Randyll’s heavy-handed dealings with the Dothraki. Calen’s actual relation to Bharbo and Drogo is kind of murky, but Bharbo had a hand in raising Calen after his own father died.


	8. Chapter 8

(King’s Landing – 12 AC)

Brendon Stark entered the king’s solar, a crumpled note he had just been handed by the Master of Whispers making his blood boil. It was a report on Randyll, his youngest brother who had gone into self-imposed exile in Essos following their middle brother’s banishment to the Wall. The Master of Whispers had just learned about the campaign against the Dothraki spearheaded by the Company of the Rose and backed financially by Braavos.

This though was not the reason Brendon was paying a visit to a man he and three of his brothers considered an uncle. They had agreed to never say so to the High King’s face, but apparently his eldest brother slipped a couple years back, not that it was unwarranted. After Rand’s letters made it to the rest of their kin, well he was just disappointed Rand gave into his rage. Brendon would have made the man beg for his end. Out of all his brothers he was the one who took after their father in that regard.

Aegon look up from where his sons were napping, the infant Maegor asleep next to young Aenys on a camp cot. Visenya would not allow Rhaenys to travel on her own, and Aegon was needed in the capital as Orys had retired to Storm’s End. Passing his position of Hand to the King to Edmyn Tully. The man was an ardent follower of the Faith, he and Brendon often came to words. As such Aegon had decreed they never be permitted in the same room alone.

Nodding to Brendon, Aegon motioned to the balcony that overlooked the city. Once the door to the solar was closed Aegon crossed his arms, “I heard about the brawl in town. Tully guards stand little chance against your winter wolves in hand to hand combat. Though, I am thankful your men did control themselves enough not to draw their weapons.”

“I have punished those involved on my side of that affair,” Brendon glowered, “yet I have heard of no such action from Lord Tully. He dared to have the city watch come to my door. It is good their captain is a smarter man than that pious fool. Do you know what charge he tried to levy against me?”

“It came out in court when he tried you in absentia,” Aegon snorted, “He was not expecting me to return from Dragonstone so soon. His fabricated witnesses were less willing to spread their lies about cavorting with non-human heathens on Rhaenys’ Hill in unseemly ways with me sitting on the throne.”

Brendon nodded, “Probably helped you had Belarion sitting behind you. I am sure the High Septon put him up to this. I will not be some crystal loving oafs’ scapegoat for some holy crusade. If any of the faith militant even come near my manse or Rhaenys’ Hill, my dire wolves will be shitting poor fellows and warrior’s son for a week.”

With a nod Aegon looked to the sept on Visenya’s Hill, “If it comes to that I will order the septons to take up the task of street sweepers. Aegon pulled a scroll from his surcoat, “A new law I and my master of laws have put into immediate effect.”

Taking and reading the scroll Brendon frowned, “You are outlawing the hunting of dire wolves between the Neck and the Red Mountains, and making it a crime against the crown to cause harm to one that is knowingly one belonging to my House?”

“You and your household are my arm to protect those who follow the Old Gods,” Aegon’s eyes narrowed, “Without revealing the oath this is my only recourse to ensure your House’s safety. Your guards are men, loyal to a fault but still men. Men can be corrupted or bought, but your dire wolves are not men. Their loyalty is as unquestionable as a dragon’s loyalty to their rider. Unlike a dragon though, the dire wolves show greater compassion even to those who they are not directly bonded to. The master of laws has a mountain of reports of bandits, rapists, and other ne’er-do-wells getting their comeuppance in the form of beasts whose description matches those found lolling about your manse.”

Brendon nodded, “That would explain the letters from the city watch asking how one domesticates dire wolves. I can only reply in one way. They are not domesticated.” Brendon glanced to where Balerion was leisurely gliding above, “They are also not bound to us as your dragons are to you. It is more of a partnership. We protect them, and in return they protect us. As far as these attacks on criminals go, my only guess is the dire wolves are happening upon the scenes as they wander about the city. These reprobates are not usually gifted in intelligence, if they strike out at the wolf, well they have no one besides themselves to blame for the results.”

“If that is the case perhaps I shall expand my personal hunting area so they might have more ground to roam unimpeded by people,” Aegon looked beyond the wall to the distant King’s Wood, “There are a number that have entered the woods and have remained there correct?”

“Three or four of them from the first few litters born here,” Brendon shrugged, “The city is too confined for too many. There are twelve that roam between my manse and the tree on Rhaenys’ Hill. My men have also reported a new pack has formed down by the harbor, the guards at the mud gate have given us descriptions of them. I believe one of my wolves might have had a litter with a common stray.”

Aegon pinched the bridge of his nose, “King’s Landing will become the city of wolves if we let this go on too long. Can we capture and ship these curs somewhere else?”

Brendon nodded, “I already have my men working on that. It was what they were doing when they came to blows with those Tully guards.” Brendon rubbed his bearded chin, “If these curs are trainable, we could give them to the city watch as guard dogs. They would be larger than most common dogs, smaller than a true dire wolf. Then it would be a city watch issue to seek out any rumored crossbreeds.”

“Thus, we have solved two possible problems at once,” Aegon nodded, “Your father definitely made the right decision when he appointed you in replacement to Rand. While I will always appreciate your brother for his actions at the Hellholt. He is quite childish.”

Snickering Brendon turned to the door, “Your Grace, you have only known him for ten and two years, I have had the misfortune of being his younger brother,” Brendon paused, “Oh, if you have not yet heard Randyll has for lack of a better term sacked the Dothraki settlement of Vaes Dothrak. I know not what the Dothraki have done to draw the ire of my uncle and brother, but the Braavosi are backing their campaign.”

“I was informed,” Aegon frowned, “Your uncle has also sacked the city of Qohor, as you say for lack of a better term. Like the Dothraki, this seemed to be more personal than a contract. If I thought they would be open to talking I would send a representative to investigate the matter, but all previous attempts by your father or I have been met with silence.”

Brendon nodded, “I will send word to Bran, he and Randyll were close once. If anyone could get a response it would be him.”

As Brendon went for the door Aegon spoke, “I will be dismissing Edmyn Tully from his position as Hand. His replacement will be better informed that my title as protector of the faiths is inclusive of all the faiths of my subjects. Not just the Faith of the Seven.”

Brendon gave a curt nod then departed.

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Aerys watched as the boys rode out the gate towards Rhaenys’ Hill. The Master of Whispers at his shoulder, “Do you really think they will find it?”

“It has been missing since the foiled third Blackfyre rebellion,” Aerys hummed, “My grandfather’s journals did state Bloodraven claimed it from Aenys Blackfyre’s body following the assassination. Yet that is the last anyone had seen it, if they are right, they could very well find it on the hill.”

The Whisperer huffed, “To think, it could have been right under our noses. Father never thought to ask the Children of the Forest. Though, he was too busy trying to convince me to accept being legitimized.”

“Harold needed an heir,” Aerys growled, “I would have called for Eddard to be my ward one way or another. No way would I let that falcon get his talons in the lad.”

The Whisperer bowed his head, “You still think Lord Arryn is up to something?”

“You may not have found any evidence, but I am sure of it,” Aerys’ eyes narrow, “The Vale has nothing to offer the North in trade. Especially as the North supports the Mountain Clans in their struggle against the Faith backed Vale Lords. Is Lord Royce holding the conclave of their chiefs as I requested?”

“It has been called,” the Whisperer frowned, “The mountain clans of the Vale are not like those of the North. They are truly little more than brigands. Father never explained to me why the Kings of the North have secretly supply them. It is not in us to openly fight solely for religious reasons.”

Aerys forgot how little the Whisperer knew of his father’s family history, “You know the saying, the North remembers correct,” the younger man nodded, “Torrhen Stark’s daughter who wed Ronnel Arryn, do you perchance know her fate?”

“No,” the master of whispers frowned, “It is known Ronnel was thrown through the moon door, but the maesters failed to record her fate.”

The King scowled, “That is because very few knew. Very few know why Ronnel had no heirs, but it is believed his brother Jonos made sure his place as heir was secure. After imprisoning his brother, he claimed Ronnel’s wife as his Queen. If the fool only knew. After Jonos shared his brother’s fate his followers offered their now dead King’s wife to Maegor in exchange for their lives.”

“Since history shows Maegor did not spare them, I am guessing something enraged him,” The Whisperer knew he was not going to like where this went.

Aerys nodded, “Maegor recorded it in his personal journal. Ronnel’s wife appeared to be with child, but at her age at the time that was not possible. She tried to yell something to Maegor, but one of the Vale men muffled her voice before slitting her throat. Maegor attacked in response, burning them all, including a scorpion that was aimed at Balerion. Upon examining the late Lady Arryn, it was discovered she had been made to look pregnant with some bunched-up blankets.”

“They planned to lure Maegor into a trap,” the Whisperer frowned, “Where did they get such an idea?”

Aerys shrugged, “I know not, though I do believe the Ullers once tried a similar plot. Unlike the Ullers the Arryns did more damage. After her death the new Lord Arryn struck Lady Arryn from their house, and had her bones returned to Lord Stark. When asked why she was not laid to rest next to her husband, the Arryns response was that they would not taint their family crypts with a heathen savage.”

“I see,” the master of whispers nodded, “That kind of slight could very well anger anyone. That Torrhen’s descendants all the way down to Rickard today have kept up the feud. The Crown has allowed this?”

“We tend to stay out of it,” Aerys snickered, “The current Lord Royce may very well get the chance to reclaim the Vale, something that has not happened since the Andal invasion.”

(Runestone – 271 AC)

Yon Royce watched as his father greeted each of the Mountain Clan chiefs. They entered the keep through ancient pathways that opened to the sea. It was harrowing for these men to make the trek, but when Runestone call they are quick to answer. Each chief and their seconds stood about waiting for the conclave to begin. Yon’s father stepped forward, “Good evening my friends, as you are aware the falcon as flown north, and is not expected back for a number of weeks.”

“You want us to start using our good stocks?” the chief of the Black Ears snickered.

His father shook his head, “We are not yet ready for that, but soon, the King on the Iron Throne has promised me his support in our endeavors. Continue to strike at the convoys from the Andal houses but avoid those from the houses that were once our kin. Freed of their Seven worshiping masters they will remember as we do.”

The chief of the Painted Dogs snorted, “We have been told to wait ever since the dragons came. The dragons are dead, the falcon is old and only has hatchlings to take his place. We should knock their nest right off the cliffs.”

Stepping up Yon spoke, “The moment you approach the Eyrie every Andal in the Vale will march on you. They will crush you before you even breach the Gates of the Moon.”

The chief spat, “Better to die fighting than cowering here playing good little pet to the falcon.”

The Howlers’ chief growled out, “Brave words you inked puppy, but the bronze man has the right of it. You would waste thousands of years of planning, fighting, and struggling to survive in one moment of stupid bravado. Our cousins to the north do not send us such gifts of steel and grain so we can act recklessly.”

“No,” the Redsmiths chief snorted, “but they are craven enough to wish to live beside the Andals.”

Yon’s father sighed, “Even after we put the Andals in their place we will have to live beside them. It is proven that our people and theirs can cohabitate. It is the man who sits in the Eyrie now that will not allow us that peace and unity. For centuries my family has acted the obedient and loyal banner lord. We have been loyal regents and are respected.”

“That is till now,” Yon held up a letter from Lord Arryn, “He is not foolish enough to break Aegon’s Word. A promise so sacred that even their most devout recognize the sanctity of it. Lord Arryn demands my father cease praying in our god’s wood, and he will see each of us stripped of our knighthood if we even set foot within. He also demands we cease using our rune armor and will strip my brothers and I of our inheritance if we do not comply.”

The Burned Men’s chief a woman stepped forward enraged, “The tyrant, he would not dare.”

“Our knighthoods we can live without,” Yon’s father growled, “but the only shield I have for my sons would be to send this letter to his grace in King’s Landing. The falcon would know it was I who informed on him.”

“That is if he makes it back to his seat,” the Stone Crows chief ran a thumb along the blade of his axe, “Let us know when he is on the way. Him and his little hatchlings will find out how useless their gods be against ours.”

Yon’s father declined that offer, “We have it on authority that Robert Baratheon, son of Lord Steffon of the Stormlands will be returning with the falcon. If one of your men happens to kill him, it would draw the anger of the Storm Lords and may lose our support from the Iron Throne. Robert is kin of his grace.”

“Then it is just more waiting?” The Painted Dog’s chief growled out, “You summoned us all here for that? Your sons could have ridden out on one of their mummer farces raids against our clans to tell us that.”

Centering himself Yon’s father shook his head, “I would not have called you here to simply send you back empty handed.” Yon picked up a bronze platter piled high with rolled hide and began walking around the room. Each chief took one hide and began unrolling them, “You each have randomly drawn a map with a route for supply shipments. I know not which shipment you have nor do I wish to know. Do with the information as you please, just keep the bloodshed to a minimum.”

The chiefs chuckled darkly as they all filed back from the room to leave the keep. Yon glared as the last of them left and the hidden passage was closed, “It makes me sick every time we meet with them.”

“It is a matter of principle,” his father scolded, “This way we have some control over them, not leaving them to raid and rape at their leisure. They think we are on their side, and perhaps once our causes were aligned. Those men and women are no better than bandits.”

“Then why does Stark supply them with arms and food?” Yon had long wondered why the Warden of the North supported mountain bandits.

Yon’s father poured himself some wine, “Revenge mostly. The North remembers and the Arryns have done more than their fair share to wound them. Lord Jon believes everything has been forgiven, that Lord Stark sees him as a friend. Lord Rickard’s friends are few, and none of them herald from the Vale.”

“So why continue with this farce,” Yon indicated the passageway, “We could have ended all the mountain clan chiefs right here. Their people would have not known what happened and would have been easy pickings for punitive raids.”

His father slammed his cup on the forged letter, “Because I will not be the man to break guest rights in my own castle. I have dirtied my cloak with enough of this business. I continue as my father before me has, we lead these mongrels on, feed them information in return for allowing our caravans to pass mostly unharried through their territories, and continue to play loyal banner to House Arryn.”

Yon looked to the fake letter, “How did you get Lord Arryn to sign this?”

His father chuckled, “You think House Royce has survived this long, playing this game without someone on the inside. Jon signed it believing he was signing a letter granting us funds to build a new sept in Gulltown.”

“But we are building a new sept in Gulltown,” Yon’s eyes widened, “He signed the second page of the letter without reading it?” He shook his head, “But that means, his measter is in our service?”

“It is good you figured that out on your own,” his father refilled his drink, “It is amazing what the Citadel will do with the right motivation. Placing maesters willing to work for one of their lord’s bannermen. It helps we keep a tight leash on who they send to the Eyrie.”

Yon frowned, “What does the Citadel get in return?”

His father glanced at him before looking way, “We give them nothing but our sworn silence. We have the evidence of their hand in the death of the Targaryen dragons, as well as the decline of House Stark in King’s Landing. Not to mention the other various sordid affairs they were part of.”

Paling at the revelation Yon took a seat, “How do we have such knowledge?”

His father raised a brow, “Have you ever heard of an Archmaester by the name of Gillard?” Yon was not a student of history nor an avid reader so shook his head negatively, “Gillard wrote many of his treaties in runes. He taught his apprentices to read runes in the caveat they only pass the knowledge to their own apprentices. They must also not translate or publish his works without explicit permission of the crown, under threat of the Citadel being destroyed. His apprentices used this method to like him write secret treaties. About a century ago the Arryns were getting suspicious of our House’s loyalty. This was learned by a relative who joined the Citadel. He discovered the secret treaties and due to his education at Runestone knew how to read them.”

This surprised Yon, “He sent them here and our ancestors used them to curry favor from the Citadel?”

“Correct,” his father sighed, “It bought us a century of House Arryn maesters who have been loyal to us. Especially after our relative sent word of what really killed the last dragons. Yet at the same time the information we hold could very well doom our entire house. It is a double-edged sword and the Citadel knows it. If either the King or Lord Stark knew we were in possession of this knowledge, they might very well see us as a threat. The Citadel knows this also threatens them as if it is learned we gained the information from them, well they would share our fate.”

Yon processed this as his father gave one more thought, “Only by proving our loyalty to the crown can we hope to see our way out of this sea of enemies.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Tywin was pleasantly surprised by Winterfell, the keep that at first seemed to be run by controlled chaos was actually one well oiled machine. Guards moved through their routines so that he never saw a moment where one wasn’t at their post. There was also no end of shift laziness from the Northmen, they were as alert when their relief arrived as they were when they had taken up their post. He pitied anyone foolish enough to assault the keep.

He was surprised to see more than two factions of guards within the keep. Winter wolves with the singular dire wolf pouldrons he was familiar with seemed to hold the walls and gates. Winter wolves with a half snowflake pouldron were always with Lord Rickard and his children. Spear Wives were also present but tended to keep themselves less visible. Finally, there were standard household guards who while wearing the wolf shape helm carried no mark on their pouldrons.

“Benjen says the household guards are just paid folk who are sworn to protect Winterfell,” Jamie informed as he ate his honied porridge, “The rest with marks on their shoulder armor are soldiers and better trained.”

“Does he now?” Joanna smiled as she cut a blood orange for Cersei, “Was that when you were skipping out on lessons to watch the guards train?”

Jamie gulped as he looked to Tywin, who had to bite down his amusement to give his son a disapproving glare, “You should not skip lessons, it is unbecoming to shirk your duties son.”

“Ben and Lyanna say they skip them all the time,” Jamie defended, “They say Walys is a snobby know it all, but that he knows nothing.”

“Walys is a maester,” Tywin assured, “So by definition he should know a great deal. Today you will not skirt your lessons, no matter if Lord Stark’s children decide otherwise.”

Jamie nodded as Genna entered the chamber to break her fast, “Good morning all, what have our host’s servants prepared us this fine northern morning?”

Tywin smirked, “You are unusually chipper this morning dear sister.”

“Oh, I slept wonderfully,” Genna allowed a sly smile, “It seems Lord Stark was not expecting me and Emmon so his people had to hurry and clean out some rooms in the Riverland wing. For not entertaining guests often they sure have a lot of guest wings.”

“I noticed that,” Joanna frowned, “There is one for each region, while exploring Jamie even found a locked wing with the Targaryen sigil over the door. Did they not house you and Emmon here with us?”

Genna shook her head as she sipped her morning beverage, “I got a pleasant little room usually reserved to a daughter of a Westerlands lord. Single bed, and upon request a cot was brought in for Cleos along with a privacy screen. Emmon was bustled off to a chamber in that Riverlands wing.”

Moments later Emmon stumbled into the room grumbling, “Stupid guards what they expect me to cook my own food in that abandoned hall.”

“Problems dear husband,” Genna crooned with none of the warmth the words implied.

Snorting Emmon pointed the way he came, “Damn dirty heathen guards wouldn’t let me enter the Westerland’s wing asked me what business I have here. Tywin should flog them sods.”

Tywin raised a brow, “I am most definitely not going to flog any of Lord Stark’s men for simply doing their duty.”

“Lord Stark’s men?” Emmon frowned, “Why are they guarding the wing and not your own men?”

“Northern prerogative,” Tywin rolled his eyes, “My men may guard our persons and our individual rooms. The door into the wing is protected by Northerners because the hallway is viewed as northern territory. This wing is gifted to us as a piece of the Westerlands here in the north.”

“Papa,” Cersei smiled, “Does that mean you can do what you want with these rooms?”

Tywin chuckled, “Within reason my dear. I am sure redecorating or remodeling would be out of the question.”

“Oh,” Cersei look dejected, “I was just thinking you could put a ladder from my balcony to Lyanna’s, her room is right above mine.”

Joanna was surprised, “I did not now this wing was below the Lord’s wing.”

“It’s not,” Tygett spoke as he entered with Gerion, “The whole upper floor is for House Stark use only. Went up with one of them Snow Wolves to give that letter you asked me to pass to Lord Stark last night. Missed him at dinner, could not seem to get him alone without Lord Arryn practically swooping in. That man needs a wife, or a hobby.”

“Maybe both,” Gerion laughed, “You think old Kevan going to show up today?”

Tywin nodded, “Perhaps, if not Lord Stark said he and I would ride out to meet them to see what has held them up.”

“Passing letters, and rides along the King’s Road,” Gerion snorted, “You’d almost think the two of you were old friends. How do you think he feels about your proposition? You think he’s open to expanding trade on the western coast?”

“He would be a fool not to see the opportunity,” Tygett growled, “If he is so angered with the Tullys to cut trade with them. We would be the perfect replacement. A stopping point between the Reach and places further north. Perhaps we could even entice them to show us a few ports in the Neck north of the twins where we could trade with them crannogmen.”

Tywin sneered “You would have us commence shipping through the Iron Isles? Quellon Greyjoy may be a reasonable sort, but his banners are still an unruly lot. No, but this is proof in my judgement to have you deliver the letter Tygett. Proof you did not read it at least.”

Tygett gulped, “Tywin, you know I would never.”

Silencing his brother Tywin turned to where a wolf helmed guard had paused at the open door, “Lord Lannister, Lord Stark says he is available if you wish to meet with him.”

Tywin nodded, “Thank you, I will come presently.” Tywin stood, “I will meet the rest of you later,” he turned to his children, “Do not be late for your lessons.”

With that he followed the guard from the room and towards Lord Stark’s solar. He had been sequestered in that chamber the past four days as the visiting lords vied for trade deals. The Starks had large amounts of lumber including the coveted ironwood, vast barely tapped mineral resources, and the largest fur trade in the kingdom. The fools did not see the greatest treasure the North had, even with it staring them in the face at every turn.

Lord Stark was not alone when he arrived. His youngest, Benjen, the boy stood head bowed before his father obviously being dressed down for his abandoning his lessons the previous day. Tywin waited for Rickard to finish, then after the boy hurried out spoke as one father to another, “I do hope you were not too harsh with the lad; we were not much different at that age.”

“No,” Rickard chuckled, “but you were a bit dower faced back then. Feeling I was intruding upon your friendship with his Grace.”

Tywin smirked, “I seemed to be continuously surprised during this trip. I was sure I never let on my feelings back then, though I guess Aerys would have told you.”

“He has, but needed not to have,” Rickard shook his head, “We Starks are close to the Targaryens, as you are most likely aware. It has been a practice since Aegon the first. The heirs of Winterfell are supposed to visit with the crown prince, so we form a bond of friendship, so we are truly loyal to one another.”

Tywin’s brow twitched at that, “Have you not sworn the same words of loyalty to his Grace that I and the other Lords Paramount have?”

“Of course,” Rickard nodded, “Yet it is a bit different in the case of the Warden of the North. We are further away from King’s Landing; it takes longer for messages to reach us. Many of you southern lords mock us for coming late to wars. We are usually the last to hear of them, so the last to call our banners, and the last to march.”

Tywin frowned, “Understandable. That is partially why I made the proposal I have. I have already spoken with his Grace, and he is amenable of it if you are.”

Nodding Lord Stark pulled the open letter from the pile on his desk, “A fortification at Golden Tooth manned by both Northern Winter Wolves and Westerland irregulars. Would Lord Lefford be commanding the men stationed there?”

“No,” Tywin scoffs, “Leo Lefford has no heir, his cousin wife has miscarried thrice already. I have it on good authority she will not bare another. Lefford is also a fool who relies more on his keep’s legend then that of his own martial power. My cousin Stafford holds some claim to the Golden Tooth through his wife.”

“Is Stafford not Lord of Lannisport?” Rickard asked knowing full well he was.

Tywin acknowledged that, “He is as of now, but that position will go to Kevan once his time at the Wall has been finished. Stafford would only command the men from the Westerlands. You could appoint your own commander of the Northern forces present.”

Rickard smirked, “So unlike Hoster and his plots to try and steal some giants. You come with an offer hoping I send some giants as part of this expeditionary force.”

With a shrug Tywin spoke without concern, “If you decide to ask some giants to come to the Golden Tooth with your soldiers that is your decision. As it would be their decision to come, I would ask that you ensure they come with translators as my informants tell me their grasp of the common tongue is quite lacking.”

“I would assume you would ask that my soldiers help drill and train your own,” Rickard frowned, “In the spirit of cooperation of course.”

“Of course,” Tywin nodded, “A cohesive unit is more successful that way. This will all take some time to arrange, and I would not wish to get ahead of myself before you agreed.”

Rickard put the letter down, “I will think on this and get back to you before you depart.”

“That is all I ask,” Tywin stood but paused as he noticed something on Rickard’s desk, “What is this?” Tywin indicated a flyer with Queen Rhaenys imaged sketched out.

With a huff Rickard handed him the flyer, “Between preparing for winter and Hoster’s visit. I nearly forgot the annual Grand Melee you are all in luck as it will be held in Winter Town this year.”

“I did not think the North held tourneys,” Tywin frowned at the flyer.

“We don’t,” Rickard shook his head, “We have no joust. The melee is a four-round event, three preliminaries with a championship round. The winner gets four prizes. A horse from the Ryswell heard, a sum of money donated by House Manderly, a weirwood bow donated by House Tallhart, and since winter is truly coming this year a house free of rent in Winter Town.” Rickard continued, “There is also an archery competition where the grand prize is a weirwood bow, a Winter Town house at half rent, and a hunting licensure for the wolf’s wood for the duration of winter.”

Tywin nodded, “Quite lavish prizes if you do not mind, may I share this flyer with my brothers. If southerners are permitted to compete that is.”

Rickard laughed, “Permitted of course, I would wish them luck, but I fear they would need more than luck against my brothers and sisters of the North.”

“Women compete?” Tywin was once more surprised.

“Compete?” Rickard laughed outright, “Umbers have stopped competing altogether after the number of times they have lost to a pretty girl who was gunning to take them down. Maege Mormont has been the reigning champion the past three melees. Personally, think the woman is trying to find a man strong enough to match her so she doesn’t fear hurting him in bed.”

Tywin nodded, “Your son has mentioned the Mormonts, their women are quite formidable from what he has said.”

“Ned would know,” Rickard replied, “Maege came to Winterfell after Lyarra passed. Said the keep needed a woman’s touch and Lyanna needed a proper female role model. Longest three years of my life.”

“She left after Eddard came to King’s Landing,” Tywin subtly pried.

Rickard nodded, “Couple months before he left actually, she got word her brother was thinking of swearing a life vow to the Night’s Watch so his son could take over the lordship of Bear Island.”

“I make a note of knowing all the Lords up and down the western coast,” at Rickard’s brow raise Tywin supplied, “Just incase the Ironborn get any ideas.” Tywin continued at Rickard’s nod of understanding, “Lord Mormont’s son is barely ten and seven name-days. Is that not young to be taking up his father’s post?”

Rickard spoke in agreement, “Quite young, the boy is barely a man. Jeor has faith in him and the lad is already married so hopefully the old bear will wait until they have a child before throwing his lot in at the Wall.”

“I do believe I have taken up enough of your time this morning my lord,” Tywin turned to the door, “until we gather after midday for another round of Lord Tyrell’s subtle hints about his mother’s virtues.” From the corner of his eye the Lord of the Rock saw Lord Stark wince in disgust.

(Week Later)

Kevan Lannister watched his nephew as the boy listened to Ser Rodrik Cassel as the Master-at-arms began instructing him and young Benjen in proper etiquette for sparring. The boys were both completely enthralled with the lesson, as most boys their age were. Jamie being five and Benjen nearing four, they were yet to even pick up practice swords let alone cross them. They would be regulated to observing as more experienced swordsmen demonstrated.

“Planning to get a few practice rounds before the melee brother?” Gerion came to his side, “Oh, that’s right the Night’s Watch are prohibited from competing. Guess you will just have to sit back and watch as me and Tygett take all the glory.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself little brother,” Kevan smirked, “You were regulated to the first round, the all comers round. There is a reason it is held on its own day while the other two preliminaries share a day, and the champion round is preceded by the archery competition. You will be facing fighters from all walks of life and from every corner of the North, even a few from Essos.”

“I still cannot believe Tygett got placed in the lords’ round,” Gerion grumbled, “Why did Tywin have to go and name him the official representative of our House.”

Tygett appeared on Kevan’s other side, “Because I am clearly the better choice.”

In truth Tywin had wanted to name Kevan as the representative, but active Night’s Watch members were not permitted to compete nor were they allowed to bet officially. Though, what happened between brothers of the Night’s Watch stayed between them. Kevan noticed his brother and Lord Stark walking along the walkway that ran the perimeter of the training yard. Lord Tyrell was their shadow while Lord Arryn was vigorously speaking to his fellow Lords Paramount.

Kevan’s eyes narrowed at that thought. He had very nearly slipped upon arrival and called Lord Stark as your grace, saved by one of his brothers bumping into him. Watching the king disguised as a lord, the second Lannister brother was surprised Tywin did not notice it. Stark carried himself with the same air of authority Aerys did, but Stark did not flaunt it. No, the Starks did not stand above their subjects, they stood among them. The Starks did not hide behind their armies, they fought from the front.

“Hey, Kevan,” Gerion waved his hand in front of his face, “Did your brain suddenly thaw out, or did you leave the water running in your quarters at the Wall and worried it has turned into a frozen block?”

“Running water? At the Wall?” Kevan snorted, “That is a luxury I have long forgotten brother, in fact I may retire to my chambers and refamiliarize myself with that particular feature of a First Men built keep.”

Leaving his brothers Kevan returned to the barracks afforded the visiting Night’s Watch. He had a chamber in the same suite as Tywin and the others but left his belongings with his Night’s Watch brothers.

Kurn, a free folk turned crow as his people called him looked up upon his entrance, “Ah, get tired of your brothers?”

Kevan chuckled, “Actually, I had forgotten how much I missed them. Happens when you are more worried about surviving from one day to the next. Where are the others?”

“Out and about,” Kurn shrugged, “Got no kin of my own in these parts. My people are Gifters, see them every time supplies are delivered to Castle Black. Guess your kin will not be back before we make it to the Westerlands.”

“Perhaps,” Kevan shrugged as he moved to his pack to get a change of clothes, “Someone will be there to greet us, one of my cousins. They will give us the usual prisoners and maybe one or two volunteers.”

Kurn spat on the floor, “Prisoners are useless, the Night Fort is full of them. Takes years to get them trained and make them realize the Wall is all they have left. Still some desert, like to watch them beg before captains pass sentence and punish them.”

Shaking his head Kevan turned towards the door, “Then all we can hope is we can entice a few new pledge shields.”

“Need ten to replace you Kevan,” Kurn groused, “You should take the life vow and become captain. Take over Queensgate when old Karstark goes to the gods.”

“Gods be merciful that will be many years from now,” Kevan sighed, “I swore to myself I would do one seven, then return to aid my brother. Knowing what I do now, he is going to need me more than the Wall does. We all have a place we are needed Kurn. Yours is running all over the Seven Kingdoms recruiting. Mine is in the Westerlands preparing for the Long Night.”

Kevan departed for the main keep where he was sharing a suite with Tygett and Gerion. While separate sleeping chambers they shared a washroom and sitting room. His brothers had fought over the largest room before he arrived, but Genna had settled the argument by stating it was his by right of being the eldest of the three, and it would make them look good to Lord Stark when he learned they saved it for him.

He had to suppress a chuckle at that thought, giving their pledge shield elder brother the largest room was not going to impress Lord Stark. He was just entering the suite when Tywin came down the hall.

“Good day brother,” Kevan nodded in acknowledgement, “Have your talks ended for the day?”

Tywin nodded, “Yes, as Lord Steffon is planning to compete in the lords’ round of the melee we decided it best to put talks on hold till after the event. Personally, I see no reason, Stark has already agreed to sell ironwood to the crown at a third of the fair market value. Lord Steffon arranged that by agreeing to counter the lost income with a fifty percent decrease in Stormlands trade goods for the North.”

“The North will make a profit in the long run,” Kevan frowned, “Has he decided on your proposition for Golden Tooth?”

“Not yet,” Tywin smirked, “but I have not pressed the issue. I have though heard from my guards there is quite a bit of chatter in the barracks. Apparently not all of the north men know how to speak the First Men tongue, some of their guards have mentioned their captains have been discussing a potential expedition south of the Neck.”

Kevan nodded, “Winter is nearly upon us and Lord Stark would be a fool not to see the genius in this idea. He could send a few thousand mouths to somewhere winter growing is possible outside glass gardens. They will also be easily deployed if need be or summoned back North within a couple weeks if that was the need.”

“Agreed,” Tywin noticed the bundle under Kevan’s arm, “I see you are busy; we can speak freely over dinner. It seems Lord Tyrell has finally caught his prey. Lord Stark and Lady Olenna ran out of excuses to avoid having a meal together.”

“Really,” Kevan snickered, “how did that occur?”

“Lord Stark’s children will be dinning with Cersei and Jamie, as well as Robert Baratheon and Elbert Arryn this evening,” Tywin smirked, “Arranged by Lord Arryn, probably hoping Robert or Elbert can snatch up the treasure of the North. Jamie and Cersei were invited only for propriety sake.”

Kevan nodded, “I see. Then Lord Baratheon and Lord Arryn will be chaperoning them.”

“Yes, but I will send Emmon and Cleos to observe as well,” Tywin snorted, “I have no fear for the Stark children their army of guards will no doubt be stalking about along with their wolves.”

“Who knows,” Kevan sneered, “Maybe Cleos will swoop in and steal the Lady Lyanna for House Frey.”

Tywin sneered, “The girl may be wilder than one of these Free Folk, but she is definitely not blind. If she were not the daughter of a high lord, I would hire her to train our archers. What is with these Starks, a girl of only five name-days is a better archer than men thrice her age. Eddard is only eight and from the reports I have received from King’s Landing he is well versed in both history, law, and sums. It took very little tutoring to get him on level with Prince Rheagar, despite the prince’s studious nature.”

“The North is harsh brother,” Kevan sighed, “It breeds harsh people who are only tempered by their sense of honor. I have seen Cersei and Lyanna have become fast friends. You permitted Cersei to go riding?”

“I did,” Tywin sighed, “Joanna’s argument was valid that the girls would be well protected. I have seen enough of what Spear Wives can do to not doubt their abilities. Cersei and Lyanna are of similar natures, any idea where they would ride to?”

Kevan groaned, “If not Winter Town, then only one thing girls their age might find around here to amuse themselves. There is an old Free Folk woman who lives in a cave not far from Winterfell. It is told she tells fortunes to those who bring her a gift of provisions.”

Tywin grimaced, “A woods witch like old Maggie?”

“There is no comparison bother,” Kevan shook his head, “This woman does not get off scaring people, from what I have heard she refuses to tell anyone of impending doom. The fact she turns some away had been taken to mean emanate death for those turned away.”

“Interesting,” Tywin frowned, “If not warning of disaster and death, what does this woman tell?”

Kevan shrugged, “She keeps it vague, will not give any specifics. Ask her about finding your true love, she will tell you if they are near. She has prevented her fair share of weddings in these parts. Unlike Maggie her words are actually heeded as sound advice.”

“Hmm,” Tywin nodded, “We will speak again later.” With that he continued down the hall.

(Later)

Following the evening meal Tywin had heard Lyanna Stark and Cersei had gone to his daughter’s room, having both departed their children’s dinner early. He found the girls sitting at the window giggling as they discussed something in hushed whispers.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Tywin saw the surprise look on the girls faces, “I had heard you both left your dinner company early and decided to learn the reason.”

Cersei smiled beatifically as she answered, “The boys were boring. Baratheon was boasting that he could win the entire melee even though he is just nine. Our brothers were not impressed, and Jamie said Robert was as likely to win the melee as either he or Benjen. They started to argue until Lord Arryn settled them. Lyanna and I finished eating while they argued, and when Lord Arryn tried to bring the conversation to us, we decided to leave.”

Lyanna nodded, “Lord Arryn asked if we would be giving favors to any champions during the melee, Cersei had to explain that is what southern ladies do for knights at tourneys. We do not give favors to champions at melees, we do not crown a queen of love and beauty.”

“Understandable,” Tywin smirked, “Who would Lady Mormont crown as queen of love and beauty as she is the expected champion. Your lord father has spoken of her string of victories.”

“You mean papa grumbled about her,” Lyanna replied, “He and Aunty Maege do not get along.”

“Do you refer to all your father’s banners with familiar titles,” Tywin quired.

Lyanna shook her head, “No, but Aunty said she would wallop us if we called her Lady Mormont.”

Hiding his humor at the girl’s obvious fear Tywin continued, “So, how was your ride this afternoon ladies, did you meet anyone interesting?”

“Oh yes papa,” Cersei started excitedly, “We did not even have to go to her cave. Helga met us on the road to her cave, she said she knew we were coming, and her home was no place for daughters of such powerful lords. We picnicked by a lovely stream that feeds the hot springs beneath Winterfell.”

“She provided you with food?” Tywin’s brow rose, “I was under the impression you were to give her gifts.”

Lyanna shrugged, “We took her the dried meats and fruits she usually requests. Yet she said our company on such a fine autumn day was gift enough. It was a lovely lunch she gave us; she even had our favorite sweets freshly made.”

Tywin immediately knew this Helga was not the same kind of charlatan as the accursed Maggie the Frog. His servants had easily learned Lyanna was partial to lemon cakes while he knew his daughter preferred honey glazed rolls filled with sweet crème custard. Neither easily acquired in the North outside of a keep’s kitchens.

“Did she provide for your guards as well,” Tywin would have to question his men, it was dangerous for his daughter to accept food from a stranger.

“Yes,” Cersei frowned, “Adam tried to refuse, but Helga japed about if she wished to harm anyone, she would use something other than poisoned sweets. She told him that would be a waste of perfectly good food. One of Lyanna’s guards warned him it was bad manners here not to accept a gift freely given.”

“What questions did you have for this Helga?” Tywin was enjoying questioning his daughter, even if he wished her to be more cautious about accepting things from strange wood witches.

Cersei blushed, “I asked her who my future husband would be, but she said it was too far off to see. She said my true love is currently far away from here, but I would meet him soon. She warned us both that we must not allow jealousy to harden our hearts.” Cercei looked to Lyanna mischeviously, “Lyanna asked if her father had chosen a match for her. Helga said the match was decided but would not give any other hint as she prefers her head right where it is.”

Tywin noted Lyanna stick her tongue out at Cersei, “Your father has betrothed you already Lady Lyanna?”

Lyanna frowned, “I’m not sure, Helga did not confirm that father made the decision, just that the decision was made. Helga’s visions are gifts of the Old Gods, so perhaps they made a decision.”

“I see,” Tywin turned to leave, “You two should not stay up too late. The melee begins tomorrow, and we will need to support Gerion as I believe he will need all the help he can get.” As he left, he heard the girls return to their giggling chatter, noticing the Spear Wife leaning against the wall he spoke, “If Lady Lyanna happens to fall asleep here do not disturb her. Just let Lord Stark know her whereabouts and that I will see she is fed and ready for the day’s events.”

The woman nodded before reaching down to pat the head of Lyanna’s dire wolf. Which Tywin noted was watching him intently.

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Rhaegar watched as the Gold Cloaks went about their patrols of the grounds surrounding the Great Weirwood Tree of Rhaenys’ Hill. The little wooden sept was quiet, the septon who tended having finished cleaning and retiring to his little shack built beside it. The torches once used to light the area had been relit for the first time in a number of years.

When Aerys had ascended the throne, he had cut cost by restricting the use of oil lamps in outdoor areas such as this and the plaza near the Great Sept. The High Septon had argued that the faithful needed to have the plaza lit but had been argued down with the fact that the followers of the Old Gods seemed perfectly able to carry their own light source when climbing their own hill.

He noticed Ned kneeling at the memorial stone, Connington spoke at his shoulder, “I have always wondered why Aegon buried Brandon Snow’s ashes here instead of returning them to Winterfell?”

Rhaegar frowned, “Because Torrhen banished his brother and son from the North when they went to Essos. Randyll Stark died around the time of the Faith Militant uprising. His remains were buried somewhere in Essos, at his request. Aegon though felt guilt at causing their banishments and retrieved Brandon Snow’s ashes.”

Connington rubbed his chin, “The histories record Torrhen rode south to place the memorial stone, but by then he would have been quite old, and it is known he lost a leg to a wilding about a decade after the conquest.”

“I guess you could say he rode the waves,” Arthur chuckled, “A ship from Starfall brought him south, he then traveled to Dorne where he remained the next six years before returning to Winterfell where he remained for the rest of his days.”

This surprised Connington, “The Warden of the North stayed in Dorne for six years? Why?”

“His wife held him captive in Sunspear for those years at Queen Visenya’s request,” Rhaegar shrugged, “Arch Maester Wise wrote a rather graphic and ribald book detailing that period of Aegon’s reign. Torrhen Stark and Princess Deira returned to Winterfell together after Aegon’s death.”

Connington looked confused, “Why did Queen Visenya want Torrhen to remain in Dorne?”

“You expect me to know the reason behind every action of people who have been dead around two centuries?” Rhaegar frowned, “Queen Visenya was not known for recording her thoughts as her siblings were.”

Ned approached the group, “It was a personal matter,” Rhaegar noticed the younger boy’s exasperated expression when questioned about knowing what they were speaking of, “What? You three were talking loud enough the beggars at the foot of the hill could probably hear you.”

Connington frowned, “Wait, speaking of beggars. Should this place not be crawling with all manner of people since normally there are no torches?”

“Yeah, this place is said to be haunted, so no one comes up here at night unless they are followers of the Old Gods and carrying a lit lantern. That would make it a bit hard to complete nefarious activities.” Arthur looked around, “Think more crime happened up here before they stopped lighting the torches.”

“So, Ned any sign of this Apricot, doubt she will just appear if called,” Rhaegar looked up towards the branches, “are we going to have to climb to find her?”

Ned followed his gaze, “If she is here, she would not be up there, that is if she has not left or been called away. Our best bet will be to look for a path beneath the roots. Children of the Forest often live in hollows below weirwoods or sentinel trees.”

Connington looked at the wall that encircled the grounds, “They never planted any of those up here?”

“Up to a century ago this was the communal housing for my families dragons,” Rhaegar spoke as he approached the Great Weirwood, “They were said to have dug burrows beneath the tree, but all the entrances were collapsed when the hill was raided during the Dance. The last dragon born died in its sleep curled up next to the Great Weirwood’s roots.”

The prince ran his hand along several scars on the trunk, “Look this is where the Shepherd’s followers tried to hack the tree down before Dreamfyre burned them in her death throws.” Rhaegar shook his head, “She and the others who were here died protecting their birthplace. This was their nest, their home.”

Arthur nodded, “The Shepherd did not get to celebrate his actions long. The fool then rode down the hill to the Stark in King’s Landing’s manse to arrest him and his household on charges of heresy. It is said the dire wolves ate well that day. Kind of thankful Aegon the third restricted the number of wolves allowed in the city.”

“Actually, that was his regency council,” Rhaegar provided, “He just never reversed it and the Starks in King’s Landing never complained. Gave them a reason to set up their estate in the King’s Wood,” Rhaegar paused in his thought, “Ned, the estate, did father seal it up like the manse?”

Ned nodded, “I would think so, it was not in use for several year. What are you thinking?”

“Rhaegar, you do not think this Apricot knew about the estate and hid Blackfyre there,” Connington frowned, “Would she even know of such a place?”

“She very will could have,” Rhaegar turned to his friends, “The estate was meant as a place for the dire wolves to live outside of the city. By the Dance the number of wolves and part wolf strays roaming about was becoming detrimental to the inhabitants of the city. The indoor market was built just to provide a location to sell meat without fear of a pack of wolves tearing the stalls apart.”

Arthur looked to Ned, “Do you have that problem in Winterfell?”

“No, but only our partner wolves live in the keep. Any wolf that has not claimed a person as a partner quickly departs into the wilds. Pregnant dire wolves often find their way to Winterfell we believe something about the kennels draws them.” Ned shrugged, “Even father cannot explain it.”

Connington spoke up, “What caused them to vanish here? I mean there are no wild dire wolf packs in the King’s Wood these days.”

“The Spring Sickness killed off many within the city,” Rhaegar explained, “The maesters quickly discovered that while not able to pass the illness to people, they were susceptible to it. They could also pass it to other dire wolves, so infected wolves were euthanized but it passed into the wild population anyway. The Stark in King’s Landing had relocated to the estate early in the sickness. Once he heard of what happened to the wolves in the city, he culled the infected packs in the wild.”

Shaking his head Connington looked to where Night Fury had sat behind Ned, “So, the remaining wolves just declined in number in the ensuing decades.”

“Yes,” Ned looked to his own wolf as well, “There was a similar die off in the North around that time. The only difference being, unaffected wolves from beyond the Wall could migrate down to mix with the surviving packs and strengthen their numbers. Dire wolves do not naturally move through the Neck, they only come south when accompanying members of my family.”

“My Prince,” a guard ran up to the group, “We have found an opening beneath the tree.” Following the guard, he led them to a knot of gnarled roots. Two guards were standing watch while a third was inspecting the passageway, “We would have missed it, but Terence spotted one of them Children dart in. We investigated and found the passage beneath them roots.”

“You think that was Apricot?” Connington questioned, “Could we have startled her?”

Arthur looked amused, “Us startle a being, that has more magic in her little finger than every mage in Essos. More like she came out seeking food, but was surprised to find the lanterns lit.”

Ned noticed the smooth walls of the hidden passage, “This tunnel is not natural, it was carved out by hand.”

“Dimensions are off too,” Rhaegar placed a hand on the smooth wall, “This was done by men, there are also wall mounts for torches in here.”

“Children of the Forest can see perfectly in the dark without torches,” Ned frowned, “I have never heard of a passage being dug under the tree.”

Rhaegar shook his head, “It is not mentioned in any of the family journals I have read,” he looked at his friends, “and there are precious few I have not read.”

“My Prince,” one of the guards was looking over his shoulder, “the touches are going out.”

Arthur chuckled, “Should have put more oil in them,” they noticed the guards looking uneasy, “What? You lot are not afraid of some old ghost stories.”

The guard that had shown them to the passageway became wide eyed, “My lords you would not mock them tales if you been out here in the dark. They say the Star of the Sea still walks here.”

“Shiera Seastar?” Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, “She died after drinking poison. Bittersteel tried poisoning my grandfather during his incarceration in the Red Keep, he fled before learning he failed. Meakar had a statue of her placed in the Queen’s garden following her death, he recorded that he smashed three stonemasons’ hands before he found one who could do her justice.”

Arthur nodded, “I have seen the statue when assigned to her grace, if it is truly a worthy likeness. Then Shiera Seastar was truly an unrivaled beauty.”

The guards tightened a circle around their prince Arthur taking point as the only king’s guard present. The lit torches continued to sputter out. Connington frowned, “This is not natural, it is like someone or something is going along putting the torches out.”

Ned motioned with his hand and Night Fury charged into the darkness. A moment later there was a confused yelp followed by the wolf returning at a happy trot, his tail wagging in anticipation. Seeing his wolf’s reaction Ned spoke, “Guards, extinguish the remaining lanterns now.”

“Are you mad my lord?” one of them questioned, “By all the seven hells we should be getting out of here, not helping whatever is coming for us to plunge us into darkness.”

“Fear is the mind killer,” Ned growled, “Swallow it and put out those damn lanterns. Night Fury would not behave in this manner if whatever is out there meant us harm.”

Arther sheathed his sword, “Dire wolves do not lie, my good-sister told me that,” Stepping towards the nearest torch he pulled the lever that closed the vents, smothering the small flame. Still fearful the other guards rushed to the other torches, closing their vents and rushing back.

Ned pointed to the lanterns held by the guards, “Your lanterns as well, our eyes must adjust to see by the light of the moon and stars.”

“Are you sure Ned,” Rhaegar asked.

“Yes,” Ned scowled, “If this is what I fear it is, she is already standing beside us.”

Connington looked confused, “She? What are you talking about Ned? Is Apricot hiding herself with some magic that is dispelled by moonlight?”

As the guards doused their lanterns Ned stepped back to lean against the tree, “Perhaps, perhaps no. Things that live for many centuries quickly grow bored. They take entertainment from many sources, whether it be teasing unsuspecting travelers or scaring the unenlightened.”

“He’s right you know,” Connington jumped nearly a foot as a woman spoke into his ear, the guards collectively fell over in fright. Arthur and Rhaegar started but both recovered quickly, “it is quite boring when no one comes to visit.”

As Connington and the guards recovered Rhaegar was left dumbstruck. Arthur was the first to recover, “Seven have mercy, how is this possible?”

Shiera Seastar glared at the young white sword, “The Seven have nothing to do with this,” she indicates the large tree whose boughs they stood beneath, “my dear sweet brother prayed to a different set of gods. On my deathbed he refused to give up on me, even though he could only acquire enough antidote for poor little Egg."

“Antidote,” Rhaegar frowned, “King Meakar wrote you drank the poison to save Aegon.”

“I did,” Shiera smirked, “So Aegor would tell us what it was and the antidote if there was one. I knew Aegor loved me as much as Brynden. It was a rare one from Essos, and the Company of the Rose could only retrieve a single draft of the antidote in time. Egg was spared and I accepted my fate.”

Connington sputtered, “Then, you are a ghost?”

“Ghost do not exist my jumpy little lord,” Shiera indicated the passageway, “I am alive, kept alive as part of the Great Tree. As long as it remains so shall I.”

“That is why she is appearing like this,” Ned stepped forward, “She does not wish us to see what she really looks like. A withered old crone bound within the roots of the tree.”

Shiera glared, “Watch that mouth of yours little wolf, even if it is the truth, the truth hurts.”

Regaining his bravery Connington walked around her, “So, she is just an illusion?”

“Yes,” Ned frowned, “I have heard about these things before. Greenseers who get lost in their visions and become bound within weirwood trees. Usually they are above ground sleeping within the roots, but I think Lady Shiera here was tied into the main taproot of the tree. For lack of a better analogy she is essentially the heart and soul of the Great Weirwood.”

“Bravo,” Shiera clapped, “The little wolf has kept up on his studies, though not a greenseer myself, I am still very aware of what has happened to me. I can manifest myself anywhere within King’s Landing but can only be seen or heard in a place lit solely by moonlight.”

Rhaegar spoke up, “What happened to Blackfyre after Bloodraven was arrested?”

“Do not call him that,” Shiera snarled, “My darling Brynden did not deserve such scorn. He was ridiculed and hated for his loyalty to our brother and kin. While men lauded Daemon and Aegor. Traitors, murders, and rapist that they were, while Brynden was called kinslayer for the battle of Redgrass Field.”

“Apologies my lady,” Rhaegar bowed, “I meant no offense, I did not call him by that name in malice. I recognize Brynden River’s loyalty, and that some events led to him having to make harder choices than many have had to face.”

Shiera moved towards the passageway, “One of the Children brought me the sword as Brynden was arrested. It is a vile and cursed thing, bringing nothing but pain and sorrow. Why do you seek it?”

Rhaegar stepped closer as Arthur kept the other guards and Connington back, “A time is coming where it will be needed as it was needed seven years after the conquest. When our mutual ancestor needed it beyond the Wall.”

The apparition cringed as she looked torn, “I will not see the blade do further damage to our kin. When the day comes that it is truly needed, then and only then will I permit it to be recovered.” She motioned towards a bush growing between some nearby roots, “Until then let these be a sign of my continued loyalty.”

Confused Rhaegar pushed the bush aside. He froze at what he saw, a clutch of dragon eggs lay before him. He turned back to Shiera, but she was gone and his companions were all staring at the empty space she once occupied.

(The Red Keep)

Aerys sat upon his throne a sense of peace and contentment he had rarely known. Looking down he saw his wife standing below the throne, her scales glowed with a happiness reflected in his own. Not far from her their son stood his massive and powerful wings shielding a glowing yellow viper and a grey she-wolf who sat on a bed of blue petals. Across the throne room a female lion stalked sadly, but her eyes were not focused on his son, but the mass of movement in the center of the room.

He noticed that the area normally the vacant space, where petitioners usually stood, was now a depression and a number of smaller dragons rested within. The largest looked like a smaller version of his son, another even smaller one looked like them as well, but was female. The second largest glanced towards the lioness before turning to the sun colored viper which nuzzled his head before doing the same to two smaller dragons that shared her coloring. The third of the larger hatchlings was black in coloring, which was shared by one of the smaller ones, they kept their distance from the rest hiding behind the one connected to the lioness.

Aerys attention was called to the last of the hatchlings as it began chirping at the she-wolf. The wolf looked sad as she along with his son and the viper faded from view. His wife’s happiness faded as she folded her wings to shield the hatchlings.

Suddenly the throne room doors were thrown open by indistinguishable shapes. A pack of four wolves appeared to keep the threatening shapes at bay. The oldest wolf fell along with the largest one. Of the remaining two, the smaller one was pushed back by its older brother who snarled silently at the threat. Before he could command the wolf to flee, he savagely attacked those who slew his pack. 

Unlike the old wolf or the strong one, this quiet wolf did not fall. Yet he was constantly being pushed back by the unrelenting threat. The smallest wolf led his wife and the hatchlings to safety. Just as the quiet wolf was about to be overwhelmed two lions appeared. The old lion convinced the quiet wolf to flee as Aerys roared fire to cover their escape.

Bolting upright in bed Aerys wiped the sweat from his brow as he realized he was in his wife’s chambers. She murmured in her sleep as she pulled the sheet over her bare shoulder. His throat was dry, and he could still taste the fire he had spat on the fiends. Standing from the bed he pulled on a robe and walked to the window. Rhaella had chosen the chambers designed for Rhaenys Targaryen though the Conqueror’s younger wife never occupied them.

They looked out upon the hill that shared the youngest of the royal sibling’s name, as Visenya’s chambers looked out upon her hill. Aerys noticed the hill was dark, even though he had commanded Arthur to have the guards keep the torches lit until they had finished their business.

“Barristan,” Aerys called towards the door, “Has my son’s party returned from their outing?”

The Bold’s voice was muffled but still understandable through the door, “Messenger from the gate just reported they have returned. Rhaegar wished to speak with you at your earlies convenience on the morrow.”

“Of course, he does,” Aerys cackled, “The boy no doubt failed to find the sword and already has ideas on where next to search. I will let him stew for a bit. Send a message to him that I will meet with him once his lessons and his duties with the small council are finished, but before we begin the trial for those two murderers.”

Barristan acknowledged the command, he heard the sound of armored feet recede from the door, a brief double knock revealed Grandison was still there. Aerys pitied the old man drawing night duty, he would be laid up in the White Tower for at least two days after this.

(Winterfell – 271)

The Grand Melee was truly a spectacle, one Mace Tyrell hoped to profit off of greatly. Betting in the North was fierce, money openly exchanging hands as favorites fell and underdogs rose from obscurity. For this reason, Mace did not place all his coin on one challenger. Though, he heeded Lord Stark’s advice when he offered it. 

Lord Stark himself could not bet on the melee due propriety rules that governed the competition, namely he was the host. Lord Arryn while vocally being against betting on such a brutal sport, had placed a few coins on his guards who entered the round. Lord Steffon was not allowed to bet for propriety sake, due to him being a competitor in the lord’s round. Tywin had placed a sizable bet that his youngest brother would make it into the top seven, thus securing a place in the champion’s round.

As the preround betting slowed and the noise around the melee grounds quieted down, Lord Stark stood, “Ladies and gentlemen, brother and sisters of the North, honored guests. Welcome to the Grand Melee of two seventy-one, you all know what is at stake. Honor and glory to the winners. Fights continue until one combatant yields, if you are disarmed you may refuse to yield and rearm yourself with available weapons, heed the arena judges or find yourselves disqualified. Fight well, for winter is coming.”

Lord Stark sat and the first ten combatants entered the field. The first round had over a hundred combatants, so to control the chaos combatants entered in stages. Those who drew the short lots were the first to enter. Mace heard Tywin ask, “Do those in the group often make it far?”

“Not often,” Rickard remarked, “Tamara Sealskin lasted half the day during the melee of one forty. Some thought she would win the day, but her water broke so she had to withdraw.”

Lord Arryn gasped, “They allowed a pregnant woman to compete?”

“Probably why she lasted half the day,” Rickard japed, “it was said no one dared strike her.”

Mace chuckled as he turned back to watch one of his men arrogantly move to challenge a free folk woman who could not be older than ten and nine. Turning to the man keeping track of his bets he held up to silver stags, “Two on the young wildling girl.”

The man glared taking the coin and recording it on a ledger, “Two sliver stags on Meriam the Red, good choice my lord.”

“With a nickname like that I would surly hope so,” Mace’s mother grumbled.

Rickard coughed, “She is the daughter of the Magnar of Thenn, got her name because of how many of her tribesmen she has left with bloody noses. A sweet girl really, came here to take a place as one of Lyanna’s ladies.”

“I thought the Thenn were the worst of the wildlings,” Jon Arryn queried.

Mace turned to see Lord Stark’s expression as the silence seemed to linger. The man’s hardened expression did not fail to impress as he spoke, “They are not the most sociable this is true, and for good reason. The Thenn are a proud people and when asked they have never failed to heed my ancestors call.”

Arryn snorted, “The stories I have heard they are little better than the mountain tribes in the Vale. Savages like them should not be permitted around good decent people.”

“I don’t know,” Tywin smirked, “If Lord Stark fails to find a place in his household for her I may need to give her an invitation to the Rock,” Mace turned back in time to see Meriam force a yield from his man before sweeping the legs out from under a rather large wildling, “My household could use a guard like her, at the very least a representative in future melees.”

Mace saw the broker next to him fish out six silver stags, “Let the bet on Lady Meriam ride. I feel I may owe her a minor reward.”

It took two hours for Gerion Lannister to enter the field, and the man did not disappoint. Gerion avoided the center of the field where the fighting was most chaotic, scouting the edge to pick off tired fighters and those who he caught off guard.

Steffon laughed as Gerion brought down an Essosi with a flaming sword who had pinned Meriam to the wall, “Seems your brother is not fond of Red Priest, wonder how he will handle the girl Lord Tyrell has a small fortune riding on.”

Mace was about to withdraw the bet when Gerion and Meriam shook hand, “Seems someone told Lord Gerion about forming alliances.” Lord Rickard explained.

As midday approached food was brought to the spectators, many of whom tossed food to the beleaguered combatants. Lord Arryn and Mace’s mother were both appalled at the fighters picking food off the ground to eat. Mace noticed Gerion Lannister had formed a small squad of seven fighters. He and two others stood guard as the other four caught thrown food. Their group then moved to a defensible portion of the field to eat.

Olenna groused, “They do not pause for meals?”

“In no battle I have fought did we give pause for meals or other necessities,” Rickard said coldly, “The only difference in our melees and true battles is that on this field, the possibility of death is much less.”

What felt like hours later and with the sun hanging low in the western sky, the last batch of combatants entered the field. Gerion’s unit had suffered a couple losses, which they had quickly replaced. Mace had a three hundred dragons riding on Gerion and his small crew. When the field of combatants had waned down to ten, and at his mother’s prodding he pulled his bets, losing three dragons in the process.

Olenna smirked, “Two hundred and ninety-seven dragons,” she patted her son’s shoulder, “I was worried you would lose money today, not make it. I guess there are a few brains in the head of yours.”

Glowering Mace turned to Rickard, “I should congratulate this Meriam the Red, she has made me quite a bit of coin today.”

“Aye,” Tywin watched as his broker was still counting out coins, “A tidy profit indeed. I was expecting to lose my wager on Gerion, not double it.”

Rickard chuckled, “A practical gift of some sort would suffice. A new spear, a fur cloak, or something equally as useful.” Rickard looked contemplative, “Umm, you are both married so no horses or anything impractical. She might get the wrong message.”

A chuckle from Tywin drew their attention, “I received a raven from King’s Landing the other day. One of young Eddard’s guards lost her horse while hunting poachers in the King’s Wood. Lord Staunton paid for a replacement out of his own pocket.” Tywin smirked as he looked to Rickard, “Lord Eddard became very flustered during the small council meeting when this was reported.”

Rickard gave a bawdy laugh, “I would bet he did. A boy his age having to explain that horses are only gifted to kinfolk or in lieu of a betrothal dowry among the free folk.” Mace noted Stark’s emphasis on the words free folk.

“With our winnings I am sure Lord Tyrell and I will manage an appropriate gift of appreciation,” Tywin looked to Mace, “Won’t we?”

“Of course, Lord Hand,” Mace chuckled, “We can discuss it during the feast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter the melee continues at Winterfell, while Aerys and Rhaegar discuss dragons, ghosts, and swords.  
> Could have made this longer, but once I near 13K words I'm ready to end the chapter.  
> Next chapter we will be moving the past focus into the Dance. I feel that I explained enough about Aenys I and Meagor through exposition.  
> Pay close attention to Aerys dream.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -First chapter focusing on the Dance of Dragons. This chapter follows the Aemond and Aegon the elder. I plan for next chapter to focus on Rhaenyra and Daemon (Targaryen not Blackfyre). Cregan's chapter will be the following one.  
> -So a bit of a trigger warning, but mostly for depiction of characters decent into psychosis due to PTSD and survivors guilt. No I am not talking about Aerys, at least for this chapter.

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Sitting upon his throne, Aerys watched as workmen put the finishing touches on prepping for a trial. Though, the accused were common cutthroats, their victim had been a man in service to the king’s household. Aerys teeth clinched at the memory of Hightower’s report. The sigil of his house sewn into the huntsman’s tunic was a clear sign the man’s life belonged to crown, it was supposed to be a shield against such harm. Yet these villains ignored it, and bashed the man’s head in. 

His household steward had reported the man was father of three, his son Noah being the eldest was currently a guest of the Red Keep’s barracks. There were also two daughters aged five and three living with their mother in their village. He gave the steward instructions to find a suitable task for the woman and have the three moved to King’s Landing. Her husband had been a loyal servant, losing his life in proving that loyalty.

“Your grace,” Aerys glared as the High Septon approached, “I must protest your decision to forgo beseeching the Father for his wisdom in this matter.”

“Bah,” Aerys waved the man off, “They murdered a follower of the Old Gods, they are lucky I do not forgo the trial. I could hang them from the boughs of the Great Weirwood and allow their blood to nourish it. Or since the one missing his hand converted to the red god in the dungeons, perhaps I should burn them.”

The High Septon sputtered, “Your Grace, I do not question your right to try these miscreants. Even if their victim was a heathen who fell from the Seven’s graces. It is only that I implore you to remember your duty to the Faith, the faithful need to see your actions are blessed by the Seven.”

“True,” Aerys chuckled, “The faithful do need to see that I am acting with the gods blessing,” He called down to Oswell who stood at attention at the foot of the throne, “Ser Whent, did I not seek council from the god’s wood this very morn?”

“Your grace did just that,” Oswell lifted his cloak to show the crusting mud along the hem, “Old Gerold is going to be quite perturbed I forgot to hang this from a tree before going in there. Think it is sacrilege to have a paved path in there?”

Aerys cackled, “Getting lost in there is half the fun,” he turned to Gwayne, “Ser Gaunt is that not why you lot insist on following me in?”

Gwayne laughed, “It is our duty your grace,” he brushed imaginary dust from his pristine cloak, “but I agree with my brother, a paved path would make the occasional trek easier.”

The High Septon was about to continue his argument when the door to the throne room was opened to admit Rhaegar and his entourage. Two guards trailed the four boys a lockbox carried between them. Aerys smiled at the way the Prince’s Court entered the chamber as though it was their very right to be here. In truth it was as he had summoned Rhaegar, and where Rhaegar walked his shadows were not far behind.

Arthur moved to take his place in front of the throne while Connington hung back next to the guards. Eddard remained at Rhaegar’s side. Aerys glared at the High Septon, “Why are you still here?”

“Umm,” the three kingsguard present placing their hands on the hilts of their swords made the man realize he had overstayed his welcome, “I will pray to the father in hopes he grants you the wisdom to face the days trials.”

Aerys watched the opulently dressed man scurry from the room, “Good day my son, I was not expecting your entire court to come. Though, I am sure they await your next great plan.”

“Actually father,” Rhaegar sighed, “We were successful by half. We have located the sword Blackfyre, but it current remains out of reach. Its guardian fears the blade is cursed and will only relinquish it when its services are needed most.”

“Guardian?” Aerys frowned, “The Child you believed to have taken it from Bloodraven?”

Rhaegar glanced towards the workmen and at the guards before stepping closer to the throne’s steps, “Permission to ascend your grace?”

Aerys indicated the step at his feet with a chuckle, “Approach son, so we might speak as father and son.”

Climbing the steps Rhaegar deftly avoided the sharp barbs of the throne before sitting upon the indicated step. Aerys leant forward to hear as Rhaegar spoke softly, “We encountered someone most peculiar last evening. I must apologize but we were forced to disobey your command and extinguish the torches and lanterns. In truth this peculiar individual extinguished most either by her own power or through some agent at her command.”

“Oh,” Aerys frowned, “Were they so hideous they feared your reaction upon sight of them?”

Rhaegar shook his head, “Nye father, she is as beautiful as the statue in mother’s garden. Though it was mere trick of moonlight that let us see her, Lady Shiera admits her beauty has faded.”

Aerys blinked as the name registered, his mouth worked like a fish as he sought the words, “You have had a vision of Shiera Seastar?”

“Not just I,” Rhaegar motioned to his friends, “my comrades and three of our guards from last evening. I gave the men the day off as the experience rattled their nerves greatly. Shiera has hidden Blackfyre somewhere within the bowls of the Great Tree, where she too is bound, her life tied to that of the tree.”

Rubbing his chin Aerys nodded, “I see, that would explain grandfather’s midnight strolls to Rhaenys’ Hill.” With a nod Aerys patted Rhaegar’s shoulder, “You have done well my son. Together we will seek to understand Shiera’s lament of the sword and ease her troubled mind in that regard.”

“She is horribly lonely father,” Rhaegar replied a hint of sorrow in his voice, “The small folk fear her as a ghost and avoid the Great Tree at night. Even the septon who lives upon the hill retires once his candles have been extinguished. She cannot make herself known unless the sole form of light originates from the moon. Though, she can send her presence to any corner of the city.”

“That explains how Bloodraven knew so many secrets,” Aerys chuckled darkly, “I will speak with the Grand Maester, he is a tinkerer of sorts. He asked for use of part of the cellar to build a lab, I was tempted to refuse but he showed me a model of something he says can clean the waters of the blackwater and perhaps lessen the city’s stench.”

Rhaegar smirked, “While not willing to give me Blackfyre, she did not send me back empty handed father,” he motioned to the guards and who approached and sat the lockbox down at the foot of the throne. Aerys followed his son down as Ned worked on the lock.

At his son’s prodding Aerys opened the lid to his surprise. Resting within the box was a number of egg-shaped objects, large and multicolored with a scale pattern. Aerys had seen dragon eggs before, though the last time was at Summerhall. Tentatively he reached out to touch one of the eggs, to his greatest surprise the egg was warm to the touch, every other egg he had ever touched was cold as stone. Yet each of these was warm and pulsed with life.

Suddenly the dream he had had made since to him, “These are the future of our House. They must be guarded until the time is right,” he glanced at the two guards who had carried the box, “You men are loyal?”

“Of course, your grace,” both men knelt.

Aerys nodded, “You, and the men who were with my son when these eggs were found. Their safekeeping is your one and only task from this day forth. No other is to know of your duty.”

“As you command your grace,” the older looking of the pair glanced to the workmen, “what about them?”

Seeing the workmen had not paused in their work, Aerys frowned, “We have kept our voices low and they will not chance drawing my wrath. Yet, to be safe they will all pledge seven and take their skills to the Wall.”

Rhaegar nodded at his father’s decision, while Ned remained silent, the Wall could always use skilled labor.

(Winterfell – 126 AC)

Cregan Stark watched as his banners one by one came forward to swear fealty and renew their oaths with him. His uncle Bennard knelt in chains as his three sons stood chained and wearing the black of the Night’s Watch. The eighteen-year-old King of the North glared at his treasonous kin.

Bennard had refused to give up his power as regent. Not wishing to draw the attention of the Iron Throne, his rebellious uncle had stopped short of declaring himself king. That did not stop him trying to take liberties with Cregan’s only surviving siblings.

Sara Snow stood beside Cregan’s thrown, head bowed and giving off an air of demureness. Their uncle summoning her to his bedchamber had been the final straw for Cregan. He had stormed the room with his guards to find Sara fighting the older man off. Bennard was only alive because they shared blood, any other man would be filling the stomach of Bloth, Cregan’s dire wolf.

“Your grace,” a soldier ran up to the throne, “the Targaryens are here.”

Rolling his eyes Cregan sat up straighter, “See them in.” Rhaenyra led the possession in, her half siblings less than happily following in her wake. Cregan nodded to them, “Welcome to the North princess.”

“What’s this?” Aegon snarled, “Kneel barbarian you are in the presence of royalty.”

Cregan’s eyes narrowed, “Look at the balls on this one,” he turned to Rhaenyra who was glaring at her younger brother, “He doesn’t know does he?”

“Afraid not,” Rhaenyra shook her head in disappointment, “Kneel Aegon and apologize before King Cregan decides to make you shorter by a head.”

Cregan halted her with a raised hand, “He need not kneel. Yet, he better work up one hell of an apology.” He focused on Aegon, “The man you were named for swore an oath of brotherhood to my ancestor Torrhen Stark. For this reason, only. I will not have you killed where you stand,” Bloth stood from behind Cregan’s chair to reveal himself.

Rolling her eyes Rhaenyra looked around, “Father said you were having some difficulties with your uncle. From my perspective you have everything well in hand.” She stepped forward, “Since their mother is a Hightower, she is aware of the oath, but like most of them does not understand the true meaning behind it. Filling their heads with tales of heathen northern barbarians. Father wanted them properly introduced to you, even though I will be the one renewing the oath with you and Aliandra when the time comes.”

With a nod Cregan stood, “We can retire to my solar to speak as equals.”

Once everyone was settled in the solar and guest rights had been offered Daeron pipped up, “Are you really king of the entirety of the North?”

Smiling Cregan indicated the map behind him, “Everything from the Neck to the Wall.”

“Then who rules the lands beyond the Wall?” Aemond sneered, “Or does that belong to us?”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, “Do you know nothing? Beyond the Wall awaits a death most foul, some free folk brave that danger. No man who rules this side of the Wall dares to claim that accursed place.” Leaning back in his chair the King in the North glared at Aegon, “Your mother is a Hightower? They know more than most, has her father not taken the time to correct her stupidity?”

Aegon fumed, “How dare you speak such off our lady mother.”

“I dare because pious fools like her may one day doom all the realms of man to a fate much worse than death,” Cregan looked to Rhaenyra, “My great uncle may have had the right of it. I pray your father is not failing in his duties, upholding Aegon’s Word.”

“The Word is sacred,” Helaena responded, “Father is very clear on that fact. Even if Aemond does skirt the edges of it.”

“I have never harmed the filthy little monsters,” Aemond defended, “Just do not like them following me about.”

Cregan rubbed his brow, “Rhaenyra, leave Aegon and Aemond here, take their dragons back to King’s Landing. Tell your father they will be pledging seven,” Cregan’s eyes hardened, “If he wants to argue that decision, remind him that he was the one who treated the Oath as little more than words.”

(Beyond the Wall – 128 AC)

Aemond set fire to the wright that was clawing at the back of a free folk woman. Pulling the woman to her feet he pushed her in the direction of their line. Eye wide he noticed the horde had regrouped for a second push, “Find the Other controlling these abominations.”

“On the ridge your grace,” one of his fellow Night’s Watch pointed to a ridge across from their position, “No way we can hit the blighter from here.”

An earth-shattering roar echoed across the field as gouts of flame washed over the horde barreling down upon them. The wrights went up like tender as a number of dragons descended upon them. Aemond released the breath he had not realized he was holding.

“Aemond,” the prince turned at his name as Rhaenyra rushed towards him, her gleaming pristine armor a contrast to his battle worn leathers, “Merciful gods I worried we were too late. Where is Aegon?”

Aemond collapsed into his elder sister bringing her to her own knees, “He is further down the line somewhere. Have not seen him since yesterday.”

“Shh,” she patted the back of his head, “We will find him. I should never have left you two here.”

Weakly separating himself from her, he frowned, “If you had not left us here who would have sent word that we needed aid. The Lord Commander boasted the Night’s Watch could handle these fiends without aid. It was Aegon who convinced the maester to send word to Cregan and father.”

“Where is Cregan? Did he not come?” Rhaenyra glared, “I did not see his banner.”

Aemond chuckled, “We would already be dead if he did not come. These were the last holdouts, but they were not going down without a fight. Cregan went to reclaim Hardhome. Aegon said we would draw them out so his forces could kill the remaining Others.”

Daemon appeared over them, Darksister bared, “We have them on the run. Nearly gutted one of those blasted ice demons. Seems they fear Valyrian Steel.”

“Uncle,” Aemond chocked, “You must not let it flee, it must be hunted down and killed. Even one of those monsters is left it could slaughter thousands.”

Sneering Daemon shouldered his sword, “I am quite aware of that boy, unlike you and your brother I took the time to actually read Aegon the firsts journals.”

“Sister?” Aegon bareled into his half-sister and brother, “Merciful Father you made it, Aemond are you hurt?”

Feeling a sense of relief sandwiched between his two eldest siblings Aemond allowed the weariness to pull him under.

(Castle Black – Week Later)

Helaena watched her younger brother sleep fitfully as he slept in his bed. Outside she could hear the raised voices of her elder brother and lady mother. Alicent wished Aegon and Aemond to return to King’s Landing immediately, yet Aegon refused to become deserters. Even now Helaena was regretting bringing their mother with her, getting up from her seat she entered the sitting room shared by Aegon and Aemond’s quarters.

“Mother, you wish Aemond and I to lose our heads,” Aegon snarled, “Father would have no choice once the ravens reached him of us breaking our pledge.”

Lips tight the Queen fumed, “Your father will pardon you of course, it is not unheard of. Maegor the Cruel was released from his pledge by Lord Torrhen following the death of his brother and was even named king over his nephew.”

“Yes, by an old King who thought the Faith had murdered the grandchildren of a man he saw as a brother,” Aegon growled out, “King Torrhen would never have supplanted Aegon the Uncrowned if he knew he was alive. Gods mother your family was permitted to know of the Oath and yet you treat it as just words.”

“It is just words,” Alicent shouted, “Words two men said kneeling before a symbol of a heathen religion. There is no reason we have to pretend the Starks are anymore than lords pretending to have more authority than they truly do. The first thing you will do as king is burn that tree on Rhaenys’ Hill and evict the stupid Starks of King’s Landing from the city and reclaim their estate in the King’s Wood as property of the Iron Throne.”

Helaena gasped, “Mother, lower your voice. Aemond has just fallen asleep, do you wish to wake him?”

“Of course, not dear,” Alicent gave a beatific smile to her daughter, “Your brother has just gone native and need to be reminded that these savages serve him, and not the other way around.”

The door to the hallway opened admitting Rhaenyra and Daemon, “You should really yell even louder your feelings on things that do not concern you Lady Alicent. I would hate to have to tell father his second wife was given to the Boltons because she committed heresy while visiting the North. The Faith burns heretics, do you know how followers of the Old Gods deal with them?”

“Um,” Aegon frowned, “Point out the flaws of their arguments and humiliate them?”

“That’s how they handle prejudiced bigots,” Daemon snorted, “Heretics are those who openly attack their beliefs with violence. The threat of which is answered by removal of one’s toenails and fingernails, then removal of one’s nose and lips, and the runes for apostate being branded on their forehead.” Daemon chuckled, “They are then sent on a walk of shame from the Dreadfort to Winterfell. Where, if they survive the walk they are given to the gods.”

“Given to the gods?” Helaena frowned, “What does that mean?”

Rhaenyra sighed, “They are tied to the wierwood tree and executed in one of several horrible methods,” she swatted Daemon in the chest, “None that has been done since the Andal invasion, and Daemon knows this.” The Crown Princess glared at her stepmother, “These days the Boltons just impale heretics in their god’s wood, though the runes are still branded on their foreheads.”

“We do brand most criminals,” They all turned to see Cregan standing at the open door, “Should I be asking why you are discussing what we do with heretics?”

Alicent smiled tightly, “It was nothing, did you need something my lord?”

Cregan’s eyes narrow, “From you Hightower? Just a reason I don’t brand you with the word treason, you know it is forbidden for any member of your treasonous house to set foot in the North. The first of our people to break the pact with the Children of the Forest. It sickens me to even think of you as sharing my First Men blood.”

“I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and I will not be spoken to like this,” Alicent snarled.

“You, Queen?” Cregan quirked a brow, “If I remember right it was Queen Aemma Arryn who knelt beside my mother and said the Queen’s Oath. You may be King Viserys’ wife, but you are Queen in name only. Here, you are nothing more than a Hightower, a member of a filthy traitor house.”

Helaena sensing things were getting tense stepped forward and curtsied, “Your grace, pardon my mother’s transgressions. Her concern over my brothers clouded her reasoning. I will escort her back to King’s Landing soon.”

Cregan’s eye twitched, “Fine, she is to be gone within two days. If she is still here before I leave the Wall, you’ll be returning her branded skull to your father.” He glared at Alicent, “Pray we never cross paths again, the next time I will not be so merciful.”

They watched Cregan depart, and Aegon dropped into a chair, “Mother, you will leave tonight. Uncle Daemon, return her to father and warn him she pissed off his northern nephew by crossing the Neck and breaking northern law.”

Alicent became apoplectic, “Aegon, you cannot be serious. You will let that savage speak to me like this?”

“Savage?” Aegon glared, “Cregan has been kinder to Aemond and I these past two years then the rest of you combined. Even my sister-wife has only visited once.”

“Uh,” Helaena bowed her head, “Sorry Aegon, I was not able to ride for several months after my visit.”

Rhaenyra rubbed her brow, “What she means is, congratulation Aegon you have another son.”

Aegon chocked, “What? Really?”

“Yes, Maelor,” Helaena smiled, “The twins dote on him.”

“Well,” Aegon grinned, “She has her excuse. Yet the only one who regularly checked on us was Cregan. Gods I thought we were going to die up here forgotten.”

Daemon chuckled darkly, “Well, between Rhaenyra’s and my boys and yours, the future of our house is secure.” Daemon glanced to Alicent, “That is as long as the King in the North does not decide a Targaryen with the blood of House Hightower is tainted with their great sin. Really good sister, what did your ancestors do to earn such hatred that even today your very presence angers the Starks?”

Alicent fumed, “How should I know? Father rarely spoke of the North, only saying it was not a place for decent civilized people.”

Helaena sighed, “His Grace told us what they did. The Hightowers were among the first to convert to the Faith of the Seven and broke the pact between the First Men and the Children of the Forest. The building of the Starry Sept and the Hightowers scrubbing all records of themselves being a First Men house. The greatest slight though is the Hightowers claims that they built their seat unaided.”

“Of course, the Hightowers built the High Tower,” Alicent said forcefully, before noticing the looks of her children, step-daughter, and good brother, “We may have been aided by one or two people of repute.”

Daemon sighed, “Thankfully Rhaenyra is crown princess, I will enjoy the day she sends you back to that High Tower of yours. The one built by Brandon the Builder with the assistance of the Children of the Forest and Giants. You know, like how he was summoned by the storm gods to build Storm’s End for the Storm Kings. The man was busy building things all over the place, wonder where he found the time to rule as King of Winter.”

Alicent’s jaw clinched, “Aegon is the rightful heir, he will be king after his father.”

“Is that so?” Rhaenyra glared, “What has father said about that?”

“It is only a matter of time before he sees reason,” Alicent said her nose turned up as she narrowed her eyes at her stepdaughter.

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Jamie and Benjen ran about the fighters prepping for the lord’s round of the melee. Stopping as they found their target, Tygett Lannister sat praying to a small statue of the Warrior alongside Lord Baratheon. Steffon was leading the prayer vocally as Tygett and several other murmured the incantations under their breaths. The boys paused as the prayer was finished, and Tygett stood to notice their presence.

Smirking at his nephew Tygett crossed his arms, “What have we here, a lion cub and wolf pup trying to sneak into the melee? We noble lords should all yield here and now against your obvious might.”

“Uncle Tygett, do not be silly,” Jamie laughed, “Papa gave me a silver stag to place on you, so you better win.”

Tygett bowed, “I shall try and not disappoint. Least I allow Gerion to show me up,” looking to the younger lad the Lannister chuckled, “What of you young Benjen, has your lord father given you any coin to bet?”

“Papa cannot bet, so Lya and I bet for him,” Benjen pointed him and then Lord Steffon who was listening nearby, “We bet you and Lord Baratheon would be the final two.”

“You did?” Steffon stepped forward, “I would think you would place money on Lady Mormont, she is the expected winner of the day.”

Benjen looked confused, “Aunty Maege is not in your round, she is in the heir’s round this afternoon.”

“She is,” Tygett chuckled, “I was looking forward to facing her today, guess we will have to meet on the morrow.”

Steffon sighed, “Unlike you I was not looking forward to having my head battered by a tourney mace. Lady Mormont is known to target followers of the Faith such as us.”

“Well, then I will enjoy enlightening her that while anointed by the Seven as a knight,” Tygett pulled a weirwood star of the Seven from under his armor, “I also seek council and guidance from the Old Gods. In fact, I was meditating in Winterfell’s god’s wood this morning praying for them to guide my hand and give me the wisdom to choose opponents I can defeat.”

“Another Weirwood Knight,” Steffon sighed, “I have a few of you in the Stormlands, have no problem with your sort personally. How do you avoid the High Septon stripping you of knighthood?”

Tygett snorted, “You have not heard. Sers Gerold, Arthur, and Oswell are all so called weirwood knights. You do know we do not use that name ourselves correct?” A horn sounding ended their conversation. “Well, looks like it is time, may the gods see you through the day my lord.”

Steffon nodded, “You as well Ser Tygett, shall we have a gentlemen’s agreement to only cross swords when the field is down to seven?”

“Agreed,” Tygett shook Steffon’s hand then watched the older lord head for the gate before turning to the boys, “Off with you two, your fathers will not want you to miss a moment of the actions.”

Jamie gave a nod before setting off with Benjen back to the Warden’s viewing box. They arrived just as Rickard finished his announcement and the fighters entered the field. Unlike the day before all fighters in this round would be present from the onset. Jamie frowned as he noticed Tygett was using a staff instead of a tourney sword.

“Father,” Jamie turned to Tywin, “Why is uncle using that staff?”

“Better reach,” Tywin explained, “Tygett knows he is facing people who use maces, battleaxes, and war hammers. A tourney sword puts you at a disadvantage, especially after witnessing that the North has created tourney variants of those weapons.”

Jamie turned at Benjen’s voice, “Papa look, Lord Umber is competing this year.”

“I know son,” Rickard laughed, “He heard Maege regulated herself to the heir’s round. Probably hopes she will be taken down by a younger and stronger fighter.”

Seeing who they were talking about Jamie’s eyes widened, “How is that afraid of fighting a woman?”

Lord Umber was a massive man who wielded what looked like a large mallet. Thick padding had been affixed to the business end of the mallet, but it still looked like it would hurt. Lord Umber pointed the mallet towards Tygett, but their words could not be heard over the crowd.

A series of horn blasts signaled the fighters to start, and Tygett charged at the Umber lord using his staff to launch him into an aerial kick, knocking the massive man backwards. Before Tygett could force a yield a crannogman appeared to cross staves with him. Tygett ignored Umber in favor of the man from the Neck.

Jamie frowned, “I think I recognize the guy uncle if fighting with,” he shook his head, “don’t know his name but they talked a lot while we were on Greywater.”

“Lord Fenn,” Rickard supplied, “One of Lord Reed’s vassals. Also, the master of arms at Greywater. A challenging opponent. I was surprised to see he entered this year, Lord Fenn is not one to reveal his prowess outside of actual combat.”

Jamie was the first to noticed Lord Umber get back up and moved to attack Tygett. Before he could even yell out, not that his uncle could really hear him, Lord Baratheon appeared to intercept the angered northern lord. He brought the massive man down to his knee before placing his tourney sword at his neck to force a yield.

“Ah see that, my old man has this in the bag,” Robert Baratheon yelled from where he stood at the railing, “Even finished off that big Umber bloke your uncle was too scared to continue fighting.”

“Too scared,” Jamie snarled, “Uncle Tygett was not scared, he just got interrupted by Lord Fenn.”

Robert snorted, “Interrupted by that flea of a crannogman? Please, he saw a weaker target and went after it that’s all.”

“Weaker you say,” both boys jumped at the soft voice of Lord Reed.

“Figured you would be here with your good brother competing,” Rickard laughed as he stood and shook hands with the smaller northerner, “How is Greywater treating you my old friend?”

“Well, my lord, well indeed,” Lord Reed knelt next to Rickard’s seat as he sat back down, “I had wondered if your guests would remain for the melee. When we received no word to escort them back through the Neck, I felt they would be staying.”

“Ah, Lord Reed,” Mace turned in his seat, “Good to see you again, you missed an excellent showing yesterday.”

Lord Reed smiled, “We were here my lord, a few of my guards fought. I sat with Lord Holt and Lord Wells, old friends of mine. We fostered together here at Winterfell.”

“Truly,” Mace grinned, “It must have been quite an adventure being fostered here with Lord Rickard.”

“I am older than Lord Rickard, my lord,” Lord Reed chuckled, “He was a very young child when we were here. Our fostering was not meant to form bonds with our future liege, but one of necessity. Lord Holt and Lord Wells like myself lost our fathers when we were quite young. Lord Edwyle fostered us to ensure we knew how to govern our peoples and how best to serve House Stark.”

“Hm,” Tywin nodded, “Lord Edwyle was known as the Steel Wolf, I could see him expecting his future banners to know their place. Was he as tough as the tales say?”

Lord Reed’s brow raised, “Sorry to disappoint my lord, but the Edwyle Stark I knew was a kind and caring man. Even tempered and fair in judgment. The tales of his harshness are mostly attributed to his handling of the mass desertion of the Night Fort in two twenty-six that led to the death of his father at Long Lake.”

Mace frowned, “How did he handle it?”

Rickard took a drink of his wine, “Had every deserter executed as expected. Then executed any of the bunkmates of the deserters, any who had not deserted that is. Last he executed the fort’s captain and his three immediate subordinates.”

Tywin nodded, “Prudent, Kevan told me the Night Fort is garrisoned entirely by criminals who chose a life serves at the Wall in lieu of other punishment for a crime.”

“True,” Rickard nodded, “Except for the captain and senior officers. Some refer to them as the Night Fort goalers.”

Jamie pipped up from where he was watching the melee, “Wow, uncle is still fighting Lord Fenn.”

“Is that fighting,” Lady Olenna scoffed, “Looks more like some form of dance all that jumping and swinging those silly sticks they are using.”

“The spear or quarter staff is a very versatile weapon my lady,” Lord Reed responded, “Many champions of the Grand Melee have used them. Queen Rhaenyra used one when she competed and won the Grand Melee of one thirteen”

“Queen Rhaenyra?” Olenna frowned, “You mean princess do you not? Aegon the second decreed she was never a queen following the Dance."

Rickard cleared his throat, “In the North we see Aegon the second as the usurper king, his decrees hold as much weight here as those of Trystane Truefyre or Gaemon Palehair. Ask his Grace, he would readily agree.”

(King’s Landing – 129 AC)

Aegon stood watching the procession taking his father’s remains to the sept on Visenya’s Hill where he would lay in state for seven days before his funeral. Looking over his shoulder his grandfather and mother stood expectantly waiting on him. His father was not even buried and these two were already plotting.

“Aegon,” his grandfather frowned, “you know this must be done. Think of your children, your brothers.”

“The small council has already been summoned,” his mother smirked, so assured of the rightness of her actions, “you will be king. Rhaenya will kneel or she will be declared a traitor.”

“Mother,” Aegon spat, “She is still my kin, I will not become a kinslayer. Cregan released me and Aemond from our pledges after the events beyond the Wall,” his grandfather always scoffed at mentions of the Others, and his mother tried to pretend the world ended at the Neck, “You know what he will do.”

Otto Hightower scoffed, “You have dragons, what are a bunch of mangy mutts to them?”

“The dragons will not attack dire wolves,” Aegon huffed, “You try and order one to attack a man wearing the sigil of House Stark. I will have the bards sing of what good all your learning was. Dragons are not simple beasts; they have fought beside dire wolves for a century. Hells I have seen Sunfyre hunt with the wild packs here.”

Alicent scoffed, “Mayhap hunting them, but working together I highly doubt.”

“Mother, grandfather,” Aegon shook his head, “We go through with this and I become a kinslayer. Cregan will ride down here with a fury that has not been seen since the conquest. I am thinking of my children, of my siblings when I beg you both not to go through with this. Cregan will not show mercy, he will name us Hightower spawn and nourish the Great Tree with our blood and feed our carcasses to our dragons.”

Otto fumed, “Leave Cregan to me, that self-styled King in the North will not be a problem for long. I will make contact with the Boltons, I am sure they will be willing to aid us.”

“Really?” Aegon turned fully to his grandfather, “and what pray tell will you be offering Lord Bolton?”

Otto puffed up, “He will be named Warden of the North of course.”

“You’re a fool grandfather, you know of the Oath, yet you do not see it,” Aegon bowed his head, “We are accursed, may the gods have mercy for what is about to come.”

(Later)

Lord Beesbury’s eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling as his body was dragged unceremoniously from the small council chambers. Orders to arrest those who could be loyal to Rhaenyra had gone out, Alicent wanted to send guards to arrest the Starks in King’s Landing, but Aegon overruled her. He already felt the noose tightening around his neck, at the very least he could seek protection for his family.

He looked up to see he was alone with Grand Maester Orwyle, the old man was worrying his chain as he watched Beesbury’s blood dry on the floor, “Ser Criston is a man whose passions overwhelm his reason.”

“Can you fix this Grand Maester,” Aegon indicated the blood, “His kinfolk will be wanting blood for this. Just another sign of my kinfolks madness.”

Orwyle sighed, “I will inform his kinsmen that Lord Beesbury is a guest of the black cells. Then later send them word he caught a chill and succumbed to illness and age. I will let them know the goalers responsible have been thoroughly punished for failure to seeing to his wellbeing.”

Aegon nodded, “You truly believe this will come to war?”

“Most assuredly,” Orwyle shook his head, “You did well to stay your mother’s hand against the Starks. I would not be able to fix that. Like the Hightowers we of the Citadel are not held in high regard by the North. They suffer our presence and heed our council, but my brothers there know they are one mistake away from being replaced.”

“Is being dismissed back to the Citadel that shameful?” Aegon chuckled.

Orwyle quirked a brow, “Your grace, when we speak of replacements in the North. The maester being replaced is most assuredly dead. You are aware of the Oath, as is the Citadel. Maesters sent to the North are not permitted to return south, there is too large a chance they may slip and reveal the truth of things to their new lord. Or if their personal journals are read that the information would reach the wrong person.”

“Every Lord Paramount would desire their autonomy and their own crown,” Aegon sighed, “Is it the same with Dorne?”

“Thankfully no,” the Grand Maester wiped his brow, “It is public knowledge that the Dornish joined the Seven Kingdoms with the Martells retaining their status as royals. Though, in the wider world view of this, it matters little due to the differences in Rhoynish and Andal cultures. Andals do not equate a prince to be a king. They do not understand the concept of a principality.”

Aegon nodded, “I know how Cregan will react to these matters, what will Prince Qoren do?”

“Watch what you eat and drink,” Orwyle said grimly, “Cregan will come with steel and fangs to tear you and yours to pieces, Qoren is a man of more subtle means. This is a plain and simple fact of what was started here today. You may not have spoken the words of the Oath yourself, but your father had. This plotting and taking what rightfully belongs to your sisters will end in only one outcome.”

Aegon bowed his head, “If I die, see my wife and children are treated fairly. Do not let the Citadel make me into a monster.”

Orwyle placed a hand on the soon to be crowned king’s shoulder, “Your relationship with your sister was progressing so well, perchance she will be merciful.”

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Noah was ushered into the throne room by two guards wearing the Targaryen livery. He had been washed and given a hardy meal along with a fresh set of clothes. The main difference with his usual attire was the more prominent version of the Targaryen sigil, the steward said it needed to actually be visible. His normal clothes had a small sigil easily covered to help camouflage while hunting.

The guards led him to a box where he was directed to sit. The two free folk women scouts were already seated there speaking in the old tongue of the first men. Ser Gerold was standing in the box, leaning over to speak to a pair of young men who were obviously his brother kingsguard members.

Ser Gerold noticed him and waved him forward, “Ah, Noah good you are not late. These are two of my brothers, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning. Ser Arthur is the youngest Sword of the Morning since the founding of House Dayne and the building of Starfall. Good lads, Arthur is the eighth kingsguard, though currently he is Prince Rhaegar’s sworn shield.”

“I am a sword and shield,” Arthur smirked, “Condolences for your father, not right what happened to him. Night Fury should have taken more than just the villain’s hand.”

“You know the dire wolf,” Noah asked.

Arthur smirked, “Of course, I might be Prince Rhaegar’s sworn shield, but Night Fury is sworn to Lord Eddard Stark in similar fashion. Save for my kingsguard brothers, not a finer fighter to have at your side.” Arthur looked to Gerold, “Would you not agree Lord Commander.”

“Aye, he is a good one to have your back,” Gerold nodded, “We will talk more after the trial, you two are off duty the rest of the day?”

Oswell nodded, “Yep, just relieved by Ser Gwayne, and Ser Jonothor is with the Prince.”

“Who is with her grace?” Gerold glared.

“Barristan,” Arthur answered, “he took over from Harlan so he could get some rest.”

Gerold nodded, “Good, once this farce of a trial is over, I will come and find you both.”

“Will not be hard to find us,” Arthur laughed, “We want to see the show. Two criminals caught in the act; his grace is doing this just to send a message.”

“Be that as it may,” Gerold looked seriously at Noah, “A man lost his life in service to the crown. We must remember that truth.”

A trumpet sounded and a herald announced the king’s arrival. Noah watched as Aerys entered and ascended the throne. Once seated the king summoned the judges who entered from the small council chamber. Prince Rhaegar who was the acting Hand and Lord Staunton entered each taking a raised seat on either side of the throne.

“Lord Staunton have the goalers deliver the accused,” Aerys commanded.

Lord Staunton stood, “Bring forward the accused.”

Noah watched the men who killed his father be dragged into the room. Lemy looked worse for where a sheen of sweat on his brow and he was being half carried to the defendant’s box. Rolf looked barely any better, his time in the dungeons had not been kind.

Once the pair had been chained to the box the guards stepped back, and Lord Staunton spoke, “To present the crown’s case, the honorable Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell will read the charges.”

For the first time Noah noticed a boy was standing at the open door that led to the small council chamber. The boy walked forward, carrying a scroll but did not open it. Lord Stark broke the seal on the scroll and began to speak, “Your Grace, brought before you this day are two men of uncertain birth who have committed grievous crimes against you and yours. The one named Rolf Waters, born of flea bottom, accused of conspiring to subvert the laws of the realm, he also stands accused of plotting against House Stark by verbalizing threats against a dire wolf claimed by my house, he stands accused of assault and murder of a huntsman in service to House Targaryen named Hobbs.” Eddard paused then continued, “The one named Lemy Rivers, born of Riverrun, accused of conspiring to subvert the laws of the realm, he also stands accused of assaulting a dire wolf of House Stark, he stands accused of assault and attempted murder of an apprentice huntsman in service to House Targaryen named Noah son of Hobbs.” Eddard faced the accused, “How do you plead?”

Rolf spat, “How do you think we plead you damn brat? We’re innocent, set up, framed. Minding our own business, and some bloke in a white cape with a dire wolf comes along accusing us of murdering some bloke we’d never seen before.”

“What Rolf said,” Lemy forced out.

“Watch your tongues villains,” Lord Staunton barked, “Thank you Lord Stark, could you please call the first witness.”

Eddard nodded, “Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“Your Grace, my prince, my lords,” Gerold nodded to each in turn as he stepped to the front of the witness box, “While performing the task requested of me by his grace. I came upon a scene most foul, one that would have been even worse without the intervention of Lord Stark’s dire wolf.” Noah listened as the Lord Commander recounted the events from his perspective. Gerold finally came to the end of his telling, “Once we secured the criminals, we made our return to King’s Landing.”

Eddard nodded, “The accused claimed they were guarding the snares, was there any evidence this was not a complete untruth?”

“Nothing concrete,” Gerold glanced to the pair, “further questioning on the matter has yielded no results.”

“I see, thank you for your service Lord Commander, you can step back,” Eddard turned to the two Free Folk, “Hela Karstark, step forward.”

Hela stood and gave a salute to Lord Eddard, “How may I serve?”

“By answering questions,” Eddard then began asking a series of questions, which he repeated with Marta. Once they were both seated the young noble looked to him, “Noah son of Hobbs please stand.”

Noah stepped forward, “Your grace, my prince, my lords.”

Eddard spoke calmly, “I have only one question for you,” he pointed at the defendant’s box, “Are these the men who assaulted you and caused injury to your father leading to his death?”

“Aye that’s them,” Noah barely finished speaking before he was permitted to step back and sit. Eddard then stated that was the crown’s case and returned to stand before the small council’s door.

Lord Staunton then spoke, “Your Grace, these men are clearly guilty of their crimes. By the laws of the land their crimes call for only one punishment. Death, unless they claim the black.”

“Your grace,” Prince Rhaegar spoke for the first time, “Father, these men have committed a grievance against not only the realm and the laws of the realm. They have murdered a man whose life and wellbeing were the direct responsibility of House Targaryen. They subsequently committed acts against House Stark. The number of crimes and their obvious lack of regret warrants me to say they are unworthy of claiming the black.”

“Agreed,” Aerys stood, “Rolf Waters, Lemy Rivers, I hear by sentence you both to death in accordance with the laws of the realm. You will be remanded to the dungeon until such time as the method of execution is decided upon. May the gods have mercy on you, for you will find none here.”

With that the trial ended and his father’s murders were dragged back to their cells. He remained in the witness box as the king and the judges exited through the small council chamber, then awaited the galleries being cleared. The guards did not return to escort him back to the barracks, instead the steward appeared and motioned him to follow.

As they walked the steward nodded, “You did we lad, I am sure his grace was quite pleased you remembered your manners. The first time in the throne room can be nerve-racking, I still remember my first time. Could barely remember my name as King Jaehaerys sat up on the throne, he was a kind man. Embarrassing giving your oath of office as the king leads you through it.”

“You served House Targaryen since the King’s father?” Noah was surprised, the steward did not look all that old.

The steward smirked, “I was the last steward during Jaehaerys reign, took my position three moons before he past on. My father was House steward before me, and his father before him.” With a sigh he placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder, “Your father was a good man, honest to a fault and good at his job. His counts were always on time and he made his reports detailed and more regular than many of our huntsmen. He was also reliable, always eager to fill the cook’s orders and kept the basics stocked.”

“What’s to become of me?” Noah frowned, “My mum and sisters were relying on pa’s job.”

“Do not worry about that,” the Steward patted the shoulder he was holding, “His Grace looks after those who serve him loyally. We are in need of another kitchen maid, and once your sisters are a bit older, I will find them places on staff.” The steward then motioned him to continue walking, “As for yourself, the kingsguard is always in need of pages, lads with good heads on their shoulders who can be trusted with the King’s secrets.”

Noah was shocked as they entered a training yard with several young men his age and older milling about. Some were practicing with training swords under the watchful eye of the Red Keep’s master at arms, while others watched or talked. An older boy wearing a tunic with the Targaryen sigil proudly displayed approached.

The boy scrutinized Noah before he turned to the steward, “This the one?”

“Yes, Caleb, this is Noah,” the Steward nodded to Noah, “Lad, this is Caleb my nephew and currently Ser Gerold’s senior page. He will be seeing to you from now on, do well I expect to hear good things in his reports.”

Noah nodded then watched the steward leave. Caleb chuckled drawing Noah’s attention, “Don’t cha pay him much mind. Uncle is a bit high strung, though if I was at his grace’s beck and call every hour of the day, I guess I would be too.” Caleb nodded, “Don’t give much mind to that senior page bit either. Me and you are the only pages answering to the Lord Commander.”

“Really,” Noah look around there were at least twenty boys of varying ages around the yard, “Who do the rest serve?”

Caleb blew air through is lips, “Well, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell have none, they just borrow a couple of us for tourneys. Ser Harlan has the most, Tubbs and his cronies over there,” Caleb pointed to a group of four boys who were among the oldest in the yard, “Right nasty lot them, all sour Ser Grandison never promoted them to squire. They’re all looking at being kicked to the guardhouse when ole’ Grandison finally shoves off.”

Surprised by Caleb’s crassness Noah indicated the five boys surrounding the practice ring, “What about them?”

“Ah, the Bold Boys we call that lot,” Caleb chuckled, “The three watching from the railing are Ser Barristan’s pages, the two going at it are Ser Gwayne’s. Rarely see them apart seeing as Malcom and Willard are brothers. Barristan picked up Malcom from flea bottom a few years back, Ser Gwayen heard about his little brother being left behind so took him on.”

“Generous of him,” Noah noticed a pair of Dornish lads, “They must be Prince Lewyn’s pages?”

Caleb barked, “Why because they be the only Dornish in the yard?” he patted Noah’s shoulder, “Ha, just teasing yep they’re a couple of the prince’s bastards, heard his sister sent them to him. Good lads regardless they were born on the wrong side of the sheets, we shoot dice occasionally.” Caleb turned to the last group who were sitting on some benches laughing at something, “Over there is Jacob Darry, only noble born slumming it down here with us low born pages. Ser Jonothor is his cousin, but he did not need another squire. The two lads sitting next to him are Ser Jonothor’s other pages, the two across from them are actually squires.”

“Should the squires not be with their knights?” Noah noticed the two eldest boys in the group were wearing armor.

Caleb nodded, “One is Jacob’s older brother, the other is his fellow squire for Ser Jonothor. They come down to check on Jacob regularly.” Caleb pointed up, “Otherwise they stay with other squires in the tower.”

Only now did Noah realize they were in the shadow of the White Sword Tower.

(Skies over Riverlands – 130 AC)

Aemond sat upon Vhagar high above the Riverlands contemplating how wrong everything had gone. He had never been fond of Lucerys, his nephew being responsible for maiming him and taking his eye at twelve years of age. He tormented the boy and his brothers, calling them Strongs as a slight. That had been his foolish mother’s doing, but he could not put all the blame on her, he was the master of his own actions after all.

He pulled the worn letter from his sleeve. Cregan’s writing was messy no doubt do to suppressed rage, ‘The North remembers. Kinslayer, all the hells await you. May a more merciful man find you first before I do.’

Looking to the skies above Aemond began his prayer, “Lucerys, Rhaenys forgive me for what I have done. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Jacaerys, Viserys I pray the gods have you at their side, safe from the madness that has consumed us.” He swallowed hard, “Mother, look upon your work is it not wonderous?” He surveyed the charred landscape below, “Is this the glory of my brother’s kingdom.”

A roar from the distance signaled that Daemon and Caraxes were near, “Daeron, stay safe little brother. I fear my time has come, find Joffery and Aegon, take them far from this madness. If there is such a place.”

Landing near Harrenhal, Aemond knew this site held too much historical significance to be ignored. Would his battle with his uncle go down in history like Maegor slaying Aegon the Uncrowned, or the burning of Harrenhal itself? Would maesters write grand epics of how he and Daemon struggled in a life or death struggle? Would one of them walk away from here a victor, or would they kill each other? Whatever the outcome, the bards are probably already tuning their harps and lutes.

Daemon sat upon Caraxes back his visor raised and Darksister bared, “Aemond Targaryen, I name you kinslayer and traitor to your rightful Queen. I would accept your surrender but do not expect it. Lucerys was protected by right of being a messenger. Did you even give my cousin a chance to surrender or flee before you and your bastard of a brother fell upon her?”

“My brother is the rightful king,” The words tasted foul on his tongue, but were his only shield, though a paper one it was, “I am sorry for Lucerys, I did not mean for him to die. I wanted to get him back for this,” he placed a hand were the ornate patch covered his empty socket, “If Baratheon had not restrained me, we would have dueled on land without involving our dragons. When he saw Vhagar’s silhouette in the storm he panicked, he knew Arrax could not outpace her.” Aemond snarled, “What of you Uncle, you sent the assassins to kill Jaehaerys. He was an innocent child; they made my sister chose which of her sons they would murder. They threatened to rape Jaehaera if she did not decide swiftly. Now Maelor too lies dead, his body torn to pieces.”

“I was angry as was Rhaenyra,” Daemon spat, “I do regret ordering the death of a child. Yet do no blame me for Maelor, it was your men who took him from the Red Keep. He would have been safe with Rhaenyra, she is angry and wants Aegon’s head, but she would never harm a child, she knows the pain of loosing a son thrice over now.”

Aemond shook his head, “Too much blood has been spilt for this horrible war to end peacefully. I expect Cregan is already on his way to set the survivors down and start reducing a few southern lords in height.”

“Aye,” Daemon reached up to lower his visor, “Too bad he was delayed because some fool tried to start a rebellion in the North. House Bolton now has half as many members as it once did, if Cregan did not have to set them down and sort them out. He would have already been here.”

“I would wish you luck Uncle,” Aemond reached for his own visor, “Unfortunately, I do not wish to die.”

(Dragonstone – Two Moons later)

Aegon wept from his good eye, the other was incapable of tears following Rook’s Rest. Looking into the face of the man who delivered the message he shook with rage. He wanted to feed the man to Sunfyre, but restrained the impulse, “Leave me.”

“Your grace?” the messenger bowed before departing.

Voices haunted Aegon as his uncle Daemon’s words from mere years ago came to him. The future of their house was secure, “What future uncle?” He could see Daemon and Aemond standing before him. The first was barely recognizable with his burns and broken body, Aegon’s brother grinned madly with no eyes a hole passing through his head, “Rhaenyra is no doubt running here believing it her final sanctuary, Aegon with her. Rhaena and Baela huddled in the dungeons fearful I will kill them as I did their grandmother.”

“We killed her together brother,” Aemond’s shade corrected.

Aegon spat, “That does not lessen the crime of kinslaying,” he shook a worn letter at the shades, “Usurper and Kinslayer, that is what Cregan will brand into my skull when he arrives. He will feed me to Bloth the terror of the North, no dire wolf has ever been as large and vicious as he.”

Daemon chuckled darkly though it sounded more like a gurgle from his broken neck, “What of poor little Jaehaera, such a poor sweet thing? Last of your accursed brood, will this war see her join us like her twin and baby brother?”

“No,” Aegon begged, “Please, spare her.”

“Aegon?” Aemond laughed, “How are we to spare her? We are just figments of your mind; we are not truly here. We rot upon the God’s Eye.”

Aegon closed his eyes tight, when he opened them, he was once more alone, “Please, do not abandon me.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Cersei watched the heir’s round closely, there were more female warriors in this round than the other two. Maege Mormont was standing off to the side, only a few brave souls had attempted to challenge her. At least one had to be helped off the field. She knew Lyanna wanted to go sit at the railing with the boys and get a better view, but she convinced her it was better to sit with the other ladies.

Well, except for Lady Olenna, she had taken a seat next to her son amongst the Lords Paramount in the two rows below their own. Cersei’s mother was not present, haveing returned to Winterfell with Genna to see to Tygett. He made it to the final two of the lord’s round but fell to Lord Steffon in the end. Cleos appeared at her shoulder with two drinks, “Cousin, Lady Stark, refreshments?”

“Thank you Cleos,” Cersei glared taking the drinks, “How is uncle Tygett?”

Cleos smirked, “He’ll have a scar but the maester was able to save his eye. The maester suggested he resign from tomorrow’s championship round.” Cleos shrugged, “You know uncle, he is not going to be shown up by uncle Gerion.”

With a nod Cersei dismissed her cousin who scurried along to ask Lady Alerie if she needed anything. The heavily pregnant Lady of Highgarden thanked him but declined. Lyanna sighed, “Should Lady Alerie not be sitting with her husband instead of Lady Olenna?”

“Father says the Queen of Thorns would not permit her son to speak with other lords without her being present,” Cersei smirked, “I think your lord father was hoping Lady Olenna would not attend the melee.”

Lyanna nodded, “I thought the trout trying to push their daughter on Brandon was awkward.”

“I have heard whispers among the servants,” Cersei smirked, “Did she really take a week to brave the godswood?”

“Yes,” Lyanna giggled, “She interrupted Brandon, Benjen, and me while we were speaking to a Greenman. It was the same day father kindly asked them to leave, I think they did something to one of the Children.”

Cersei’s lips tightened, “If someone tried to hurt Thistle, I would have papa drop them off the side of the Rock. I know they are perfectly able to protect themselves, but why do people think they have the right to harm them in the first place. They do not bother anyone.”

“Father says it is the ignorance of the Faith of the Seven,” Lyanna frowned, “Not that following the Seven is a bad thing, but blind faith leads to ignorance, which leads to misunderstandings, those usually end in hate and death.”

Cersei blinked, the words were slightly different, but she recognized them, “I’ve heard that saying before. Momma read it in a book the Septon at the Rock wanted burned. Momma said the book was property of House Lannister so would not let him take it.”

“The Heresy of Aegon the Second,” Lyanna smiled, “Papa says it’s the only version of the Seven’s teachings he would willingly read. He said Aegon the second wrote it on Dragonstone as he awaited death to come for him.”

Cersei frowned, “Momma said he went mad in his final months of life, which attributed to his erratic behavior. He rewrote the words of the Seven. Replacing the accepted images of the Seven faces with likenesses of various members of the Targaryen household of the time. With himself at the Stranger.”

(Dragonstone – 130 AC)

Aegon muttered to himself as he worked on his book, scratching out notes as he sifted through the scattered pages of religious texts. He had fed Dragonstone’s septon to Sunfyre following the man chastising him for desecrating the word of god. The maesters joined him soon after when they questioned his sanity. Switching focus to the model statues for his new sept he glanced over his shoulder to his bed.

His fourteen-year-old cousins sat nervously watching him. Baela looked defiant, her split lip from where he struck her the day before making him look away, “What do you think? Do they do them justice?”

Rhaena spoke meekly, “They are nice your grace,”

“They are aren’t they,” Aegon picked up a model depicting the twin girls, “You will be the maiden, err maidens. Baela the fierce personification,” he reached out and stroked Rhaena’s cheek with his burn scarred knuckles, “Rhaena the personification of gentleness.” Placing the model down he snatched up another, “Here, your grandmother will be the Crone, err, no we will think up a new name for that face. Yes, we will do that.”

Baela glared, “Your grace, why did you have us brought here?”

“To keep you safe,” Aegon snarled, “We cannot trust them, anyone else. Not till the wolves come to tear them all to shreds. Then we will retake what is ours, we will swear the Oath with Cregan, and everything will be good again. I will fly Sunfyre to Old Town and burn it all, the High Tower, the Starry Sept, and the Citadel, err after we take all the books first.”

There was a knock at the door that drew Aegon’s attention, “What? Who dares to disturb me?”

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston Cole called from beyond the door, “I was just coming to inform you that Princess Baela and Princess Rhaena are no longer in their cell.”

Aegon growled, “I know that you fool, I have taken them under my protection. How can I trust their safety with the likes of you lurking about? You who twisted my little brother into a kinslayer.”

“Your Grace,” Rhaena spoke softly, “Who are you talking to?”

Aegon pointed at the door, “Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard.”

“Aegon,” Baela shared a look with her sister, “Ser Criston has been dead for months. He fell at the battle known as the Butcher’s Ball; do you not remember?”

Looking to the door Aegon reached for it cautiously. Opening it only enough to look outside the room, the hallway looked deserted at first. Then a figure stepped into view, it was Ser Criston, but a dozen arrows pierced his armor from every angle, his skin putrefied, and blood poured from his mouth.

Aegon slammed the door closed, “Not real, not real.”

The twins jumped after Aegon slammed the door shut, but the chains holding them to the bed did not permit much movement. The imprisoned sisters could only watch quietly as Aegon became a blubbering wreck at the base of the door.

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

The finals of the Grand Melee were a much calmer affair, at least that is what Tywin thought as the stands filled once more. There was no open betting on the finals, the brokers still lurked about among the small folk, but avoided the stands holding the nobles. The twenty-one fighters for the final round were already standing in the melee yard, sizing each other up. There were no alliances here, no gentlemen’s agreements.

“Lord Hand,” Lord Arryn called from his seat a row below his, “Which of your brothers do you favor today?”

“Even wounded Tygett is more than capable of winning,” Tywin took note his brother had switched from a staff to a tourney mace and shield. He needed the added protection of the shield since the bandages covering his right eye blocked his vision, “Gerion though is not one to be discounted. As long as they represent our house properly I will be pleased.”

Mace chuckled, “A very diplomatic answer my lord Hand,” he then pointed out the free folk woman who had made them both quite a bit of coin the first day, “Ah, seems our gift was well received my lord.”

Tywin took note the women, actually a girl of ten and four, wore the armor he and Mace had requisitioned from the forge master of Winterfell. It was an interesting amalgamation of castle forged steel plates and fur. Lord Stark had agreed its practicality was superbly evident. It also helped that Mikken was already in the process of making the girl’s armor for her posting as on of Lady Lyanna’s ladies. Tywin knew this meant the girl was to be a Spear Wife, and this armor would make her stand out among the rest. From his experience there was little uniformity among that class of Northern military.

“Yes, no doubt it will serve her well today and, in the future,” Tywin smirked, “I must know Lord Stark, as a spear wife is she promised to one of your guards?”

“No,” Lord Rickard chuckled, “her father does hope I find her a husband within the next few years. The Thenn are not regarded well among the other free folk, and the lords of the North normally only take free folk wives from the clans that live upon their lands. Less animosity that way.”

Lord Arryn was shocked by this, “Your banners take wives from among the wildlings?”

Rickard shrugged, “It is not my responsibility to monitor my people’s love lives. Many young lords ride about the North, hunting and just spending time outdoors with their companions. The free folk often play host to our sons, and our sons oft lay with their daughters. More than a few snows appear at the gates of our keeps.” Rickard indicated a winter wolf standing at his side, a single dire wolf on his pouldron, “Roan Snow here is the son of my cousin, his father was one of the sons of Artos Stark. His mother was not sure which because they were identical twins.”

“Is it safe to have your household guarded by bastards,” Lord Arryn glared at the guard, “They are deceitful creatures, always plotting to take what is not theirs.”

“I would trust Roan with my life and the life of my children,” Rickard glared, “He is kin, it matters not how he was conceived, he chose to serve. I do not judge a man on the manor of his birth, only on the substance of his character and the merit of his deeds.”

Tywin took note of how the guard had clenched his fist at Arryn’s words, but had relaxed at the defense Rickard had levied against the customary derogatory remarks of the Seven. Of a like mind Tywin did not harbor ill will towards any Hills in the Westerlands. He just hoped his siblings and children would not sully the family name by producing any themselves, he did know a few existed though from past generation of their family.

“It is better they are where you can keep an eye on them,” Mace spoke, his words laced with similar distaste for those born on the wrong side of the sheets, “I am of a mind that if raised properly they can be less of a detriment to society. They just need to be reminded of their place.”

Lord Arryn glared at the guard still, “If his mother did not know which of the brothers sired him, how do you know he is truly either of their spawn?”

Rickard huffed, “Roan, take off your helm.”

“As you wish,” the guard pulled off the wolf shaped helm revealing a long face and grey eyes. If he did not know better Tywin would think he was looking at Rickard’s younger brother, “Not that it matters which of the twin wolves were my father. They both were long dead before I was sent to the Moat.”

“Sent to the Moat?” Tywin frowned, “You were not brought to Winterfell?”

“No, my lord,” Roan put his helm back on, “The Twin Wolves held command of Moat Cailin when I was sired. My older brothers put out the call for any of their brothers and sisters to service when their fathers passed. They knew of me, as they sent the letter to my mother calling for me.”

Olenna snorted, “The boys knew where they left their marks, just did not care to take in their stray pups.”

“Actually,” Rickard sighed, “They did not wish to tear children from their mothers. It is the free folk mother’s choice to surrender their child to the father’s family or keep the child.”

“I see,” Arryn nodded, “I can respect the sentiment of the idealism of that, just not recklessness of allowing a child who could potentially lay claim to a noble house be raised by such uncivilized people.”

Tywin scoffed, “Then you are too short sighted my lord of Arryn,” he indicated the melee field before them and the people cheering on the fighters, “You are forgetting the difference in culture and ideology of these people. The free folk do not seek power or seats. The want only for their freedom and the food to fill their bellies come winter.”

“Well said Lord Hand,” Mace clapped as Rickard nodded his approval, “Lord Stark, I know we put a pause on our trade talks, but I just had a thought.”

“Careful Mace those can be painful,” Olenna japed.

An annoyed glare at his mother the Lord of the Reach pushed on, “It is normal for people from other regions to come to the North, namely, to serve on the Wall. Yet have you thought of sending your free folk south to seek temporary work during winter.”

Rickard hummed, “Not really, part of my duties as Warden of the North is protecting the free folk, their culture and their lives. They are by nature and necessity hunter gatherers, some have learned to farm in the Gift and New Gift, but that is a very small percentage of them. I would have to be able to send representatives to ensure their safety.”

“I am sure his Grace would see the logic in this proposition,” Tywin inserted, “Few mouths for the North to feed during winter and more workers to tend fields and orchards in the south.”

“I will need to think on this,” Rickard focused on the melee.

(Dragonstone – 130 AC)

Aegon glared at the repentant form of Sunfyre, the dragon whimpering in pain as it had since its battle with Moondancer. He could not bare to look at the rope hanging above the wounded dragon, only a shin and foot remained swaying in the wind. The smell of burn flesh burned his nose, and for once it was not his own.

“Your grace,” Ser Alfred Broome growled, “We were just,” he stopped as the king’s glare shifted to him.

“You were just what?” Aegon noted that his nephew that shared his name stood staring at the remains of his mother, “Tell me Ser Broome, Ser Waters. What were you just doing?”

Broome puffed up his chest, “We were giving traitors their just punishment.”

Lunging forward Aegon grabbed Broome by the front of his armor, “Who are you to decide the punishment of a prisoner of war. Who are you to pass judgement upon the blood of the dragon? Who are you to feed my sister to my dragon?”

“Uncle?” Aegon turned to the boy, “Why? Why are all my brother’s dead?”

Aegon ripped the boy from Marston Water’s grip, “Because the gods are cruel Aegon, they have taken your cousins and siblings. They shattered our family.” Aegon knelt and forced the boy to look him in the eyes, “Do not fret, those gods are gone. I know why these terrible things happened. Our kin were not meant for this world, they have raised to the heavens to take the thrones of heaven form unworthy gods.”

Aegon the younger frowned, “What do you mean uncle?”

“Come, come,” Aegon the elder stood and began half dragging his nephew towards his chambers, “I will show you the new pantheon of the Seven. They are all there.”

Unlocking the door to his chamber Aegon regretted he had paused long enough to lock the door. Yet seeing Baela and Rhaena safely huddled on the bed reassured him he had done the right thing for once. His young nephew pulled free of his grasp to barrel into his sisters who enveloped him in a hug. Aegon could not bare the sight, jealous that he no longer had any siblings to seek solace from.

“Your grace,” turning he found Broome and Waters standing at the open door, “We should at the very least put the boy to death.” Broome snarled, “He continues to be a rallying point for the blacks, he is a threat to your rule.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed, “The only threat I see is you Ser Broome. Watch your tongue or Sunfyre’s next meal will be you. If you ever act without my consent again, I will personally see you die painfully.”

“Come on Alfred,” Marston forcefully tried turning his comrade to leave, “You heard his grace’s decision on the matter. We swore to serve him, we should make preparations to return to King’s Landing.”

“Yes,” Aegon said proudly, “We must return to King’s Landing soon. I must present the new faith to the Septons so they can swiftly spread the new words of the gods.”

Waters frowned as Broome looked concerned, Marston gave a strained smile, “Of course your grace. We will let you know when preparations are ready."

Aegon nodded to the pair before closing the door and locking it once more. Making his way back to the bed he saw his nephew crying, his sisters trying to console him. Unsure how to provide comfort to his distraught nephew he retreated to the couch he had been sleeping on since bringing his cousins to his chamber. He would have a chain for Aegon brought up in the morning. With that thought he slipped into sleep his nephew’s sobs fading with his consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple explanations on points I felt like clarifying.   
> -Wierwood Knights, simply they are knights anointed in the Faith but also hold to the Old Gods. High Septon and Most Devout do not like them, but cannot censure them because many are also favorites of their liege lords or the King.  
> -In this word the Faith is not nearly as powerful as in cannon. Aerys is also working to strip them of even more power, just as many of his ancestors have.  
> -The North hate for Hightower, somewhere between Cregan's time and Rickard's time the feud is settled. Since Gerold is at Weirwood Knight probably a sign of the reason why.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Warning for cannon typical violence and mentions of past sexual assault. This is a Game of Thrones fanfic so, not sure why I am including warnings.  
> -Warning for some convoluted plot points and mentions of two consenting adults having relations out of wedlock.

(King’s Landing – 126 AC)

Rhaenyra stood within her father’s solar, King Viserys the first of his name stood silently staring out of the window overlooking King’s Landing. His Queen was fuming from her place next to the desk, “You left your brothers in the North? I sent you to introduce them to Cregan and help him settle his realm. Not to let your brothers run off to play hero on the Wall.” Viserys turned to her, “How badly did they insult Cregan?”

“It was better the Wall than the alternative,” Rhaenyra sighed, “Aegon insulted Cregan in his own throne room in front of his own banners. He is lucky one of the northern lords did not take further insult on behalf of their king.”

“Bah,” Alicent snorted, “He is no king, just an up jumped lord who does not know his place.”

“Alicent, please,” Viserys growled dangerously, “Your family is one of only a handful that know the truth of the Oath. You know the Warden of the North is truly their king, an under king to my crown, but a king still. He rules his region with autonomous powers and ultimate authority over his subjects. Also, as custom of the Oath, Cregan is as good as my own kin. We may not be as close as past generations, my father taught me that the Stark’s loyalty is not something our House can afford to lose.”

Rhaenyra nodded, “Agreed father, that is why I left Aegon and Aemond. A few years on the Wall will do them good, hopefully make them realize their place in the world.”

Alicent spat out, “There place is here. The Wall is no place for the crown prince.”

She stopped as Viserys rounded on her, “Crown Prince?” His eyes hardened like they so rarely did, “Rhaenyra is my heir, and until I decide otherwise that is how it shall remain. If I hear you say that again you will find yourself back in Old Town along with your damn fool of a father. I grow tired of the animosity you have stirred up between my daughter and your children. Our dynasty is not so secure that we can allow fractures to appear, the enemies are at the gate.”

Rhaenyra enjoyed the contrite expression and stance her stepmother took but did not buy its sincerity for a minute. To her the enemy was not at the gate, it was already inside. It had wormed its way into their Household, first by making itself indispensable to her grandfather, then enticing her father with honeyed words and open legs.

“Your grace,” Ser Criston Cole leaned his head into the room, he shot a glare at Rhaenyra before speaking, “Prince Daemon is here, says Prince Joffery,” he spat both names with thinly veiled disgust, “is calling of his mother and will not mind the staff.”

Viserys laughed, “Ha the boy is not so easily coddled, let my brother enter.”

Daemon pushed past Cole and shoved the man out, “Family discussion we have no need for you.” He turned and swept an overexaggerated bow to his brother, “Your grace, my queen, and my beloved princes. I come with such dire news, Prince Joffery will not go to bed without a tale from his beloved mother. It seems he has dragged his young brothers Aegon and Viserys along with their young cousins into joining his rebellion. Princes Helaena and Prince Daeron hold the line, but I fear Jacaerys and Lucerys have been captured.”

Laughing Viserys feigned a serious tone, “What of Rhaena and Baela? Have they fallen as well?”

“Alas,” Daeron moved to where his brother stored the good wine, “My darling daughters have abandoned the field of battle, retreating to their fortress.”

Alicent rolled her eyes, “You think this is all a big joke do you not Daemon?”

“That is Prince Daemon to you my Queen,” Daemon smirked, “I do find it a bit humorous. Though, about Jacaerys and Lucerys being captured I am not japing about. I asked them to see their brothers to bed, and when I checked on them. Well I found Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in Aegon and Viserys room with Joffery in the process of finishing a rather strong sailors knot on his brothers. I retreated for assistance, I am not exactly good with kids, just ask my daughters.”

Rolling her eyes Rhaenyra took the wine from her uncle-husband’s hand, setting it down she dragged him towards the door, “You can face an army of ten thousand, but four boys under ten and a girl turns you craven. Come, let us end this rebellion and bring peace back to the Red Keep.”

Once the pair was gone Alicent sneered, “That is who you wish to sit the throne after you pass? Your daughter is unworthy, and it will be your brother who truly rules.”

“Daemon, rule?” Viserys brow rose at that, “You know little of my brother dear wife. A militant man of great renown, but ambitions for the throne he has not. He did not marry my daughter for lust of the throne, it was lust for her. Show me the man who can tame or control my daughter, you will no find such man.”

“Not even Lord Cregan Stark?” Alicent fumed, “She abandoned her brothers, my sons to that heathen barbarian. He did not even have the decency to let them stay at Winterfell. He sent them to the Wall, the Wall is a place for criminals. A prison, not a place to seek glory. Aegon the first was a fool to think otherwise.”

“A fool?” Viserys narrowed his gaze, “Did a fool fight the Others to save thousands beyond the Wall? Did a fool unite the warring kingdoms of Westeros into a single prosperous kingdom? Did a fool pardon the lords of the High Tower when they confronted him with the fact they knew of the Oath?”

Alicent swallowed hard, “There is no proof he fought the Others, he was probably just driving the wildlings down to the North so his most loyal follower would have more forces at his disposal. The Oath precludes the unification of the Seven Kingdoms, the North and Dorne are independent to this day. As for his sparing of my House, it was not our fault the Citadel thought to share their knowledge with my ancestors.”

“Right, the Citadel is so well known for just offering out their secrets to any lord who asks,” Viserys glared, “Especially secrets they were specifically told to keep quiet about or face our wrath. I will not continue this argument; you are my wife and you will obey my commands. If I hear of anymore antagonism between you and Rhaenyra, I will set you aside and send you to the silent sisters.”

The Queen had to bite her tongue to hold back an angry retort. Instead she balled her fists and stormed from the room, in the hall Ser Cole caught her by the wrist, “My Queen?”

Her eyes watched the door until it closed, “My chambers once you have been relieved.”

Smirking Ser Cole bowed his head, “As you command your grace.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Gerion watched as the maester finished stitching up his arm, “Whoever designed tourney battleaxes needs to rethink the design.”

Walys nodded, “Crude horrible weapons my lord, I tried convincing Lord Stark to ban them a number of years ago, but he refuses.”

“Oh, no I have nothing against them,” Gerion chuckled, “Just think they need a bit more than some pads covering an actual axe head. Enough blows, and the axe is going to cut through the pad,” he sobered up, “Did you hear who won?”

With a nod Walys tied off the last stitch, “Your elder brother Lord Tygett, he must have been aided by the gods. Though, enough time listening of the annual melees you learn the winners are often surprising. I had suggested your brother withdraw from the melee following his wounding in his previous round. He fought anyways and won the day.”

Gerion sighed, “Well, if you are done, I will head down to the feast, need to congratulate my brother on being victorious. The first Lannister to win the Grand Melee of the North. If winter is not too harsh perhaps, I will travel up and compete next year.”

“Well,” Walys chuckled, “Your brother will have a house available.”

“You serious,” Gerion snorted, “He will donate it to some Northern family who needs it no doubt.”

Walys shook his head, “It does not quite work like that. The house is considered a gift to the victor of the melee from House Stark. To regift such a gift is seen as being ungrateful and an offense to northern sensibilities.”

“Damn,” Gerion smirked, “Looks like we have a house until the end of winter.”

Cleaning his tools Walys smiled, “Yes, and that would be an end to the Northern winter, not the end of winter as stated by the Citadel. Winter for the south ends about six months before here.”

“Good to know,” Gerion made his exit from the maester’s chambers. He found his way to the Great Hall where the feast had already started. Tygett getting a seat of honor at the high table for his victory, Tywin as Hand of the King was also seated there so Gerion searched out his other family members.

Jamie and Cersei were seated at the children’s table, they had both become rather close with the Stark siblings. He’d figured Tywin would snatch one as a ward by the end of the trip, but so far the subject had yet to be broached. Genna was sitting with Kevan and Emmon not far from the children, Mace and Alerie were sitting with his family. Thankfully old Olenna was sitting with Lord Arryn.

As he approached Mace was the first to greet him, “Ah, Lord Gerion, quite the showing you made today.”

“Would have liked to have done better,” Gerion smirked, “Who took down the guy with the axe?”

“Miriam,” Kevan stated, “As soon as the fighting resumed after you withdrew.”

Gerion nodded, “Good, who took her down?”

“Lord Baratheon, but he was not happy with the results,” Genna groused, “The field judge mistook the girl’s moonblood for an injury and called for her to withdraw. Not only did the fool embarrass the poor thing he wounded Lord Baratheon’s dignity.”

Gerion frowned, “How so?”

Emmon scoffed, “The girl had old Baratheon on the ropes, nearly had him ready to yield when the field judge intervened.” The Frey shook his head, “Baratheon did not have his head on straight when he faced Tygett. Though, Tygett looked kind of furious during their bout, it was the final fight.”

“Of course, he was furious,” Gerion japed, “He was hoping to teach me a lesson in the final round, but that big old wildling got in the way. Anyone get his name?”

“Styr, apparently the Magnar of Thenn and Miriam’s father. He fought in the lord’s round under special dispensation.” Mace said between bites of food, “I made a tidy bit of coin off him, but not nearly as much as I did off you and Miriam the day before.”

Gerion smirked, “I live to serve my lord, dear Tywin make a few coins off me as well?”

“Aye,” Kevan snorted, “I had to count the damn winnings twice. Why could you not have done as expected and lose?”

“I had to give some reason to ensure you still remembered the difference between a stag and a dragon,” Gerion looked back to Mace, “So Miriam took down her old man? I thought our family had issues.”

“Ah, there you are tiny lion man,” A large hand grasped his shoulder, “I see your maester has tended the wound I gave you. You fought well,” Gerion looked up at the bald head of Styr, for the first time realizing he had no ears, “I look forward to fighting you again.”

“Father,” Miriam rushed over along with a younger man, “You should not be walking around so much.”

“Nor drinking,” the young man groused, “Sister nearly cracked your skull open today.”

Styr snorted, “Miriam, yes she fought well to, next time I will remember to duck when she swings her spear. Sigorn, get me another mead.”

Miriam bowed to their table as Sigorn pried his father’s hand from Gerion and started leading him back to their table, “Apologies, turned my back for a second and he wandered off. Papa is not usually like this, but I probably misjudged how hard I hit him.”

Gerion laughed, “No problem, you never said your father was entering the melee.”

“I was not made aware of it,” Miriam groused, “He wanted it to be a surprise, by Thenn custom I cannot spar with my father, so this is the only way for me to test myself against him.” Miriam turned to Mace, “Lord Tyrell, thank you for the armor, it is much appreciated.”

Mace acknowledged the gratitude, “No trouble dear, your skill was most excellent. If you were not already joining the household guard of Winterfell, I would request your services in Highgarden.”

“Yes, after that showing today half the lords of the realm would be offering you positions within their households,” Alerie smiled kindly, “Well those who would look past your gender.”

“Thank you for the complement my lady,” Miriam smiled, “Though, I regret I did not get to face Lady Mormont.”

Gerion frowned, “Yes, I heard about her withdrawing. Anyone hear exactly why?”

“Pregnancy,” Genna said with an air of superiority, “Apparently that was why she was being so cautious during her round yesterday. I heard her speaking to Lord Rickard before we left for Winter Town this morning.”

Miriam seemed to brighten at that, “A new Bear? That is good, they are strong warriors.”

“Wait,” Gerion frowned, “Lady Mormont is not wed, so would the child not be a Snow?”

“Bears are Bears, as Thenn are Thenn,” Miriam said like that was common knowledge, “We do not understand what makes a Snow a Snow, but they are strong warriors too, though they come from many clans.”

Gerion noticed Kevan’s smirk so glared at his elder brother, “Alright, enlighten us big brother, what has drawn that rare expression of humor upon your face?”

Kevan shook his head, “Well, for anyone who has lived in the north for more than two moons it is quite common knowledge. House Mormont does not have bastards. Usually their women folk seem to just become pregnant. The myth goes they go find a male bear and lay with it. Reality is they probably find a willing partner and have a child with them. The child is named a Mormont and if they are a girl, they will probably go find a bear to have another daughter with as their mother did to have them.”

“So,” Gerion looked at those sitting around the table, “Any clue the name of the bear Lady Mormont laid with, you know just to avoid any incest in the future.”

Genna looked to the girl standing between her and her little brother, “Two silver stags if you will slap my dear brother for me.”

Miriam shrugged and slapped Gerion across the back of the head, “Ow, she was joking.”

Fishing two stags from her sleeve Genna smirked, “Dear Gerion, remember, a Lannister always pays their debts.”

(Beyond the Wall – 128 AC)

Daemon rode hard as he followed his wife north, they had passed the Wall over an hour ago. Vhagar and Sunfyre, without their riders flew beside them, the urgency they were pushing their own dragons forth with being felt by those bound to his nephews. He prayed to all the gods, mostly the old gods now they were past the Wall, that they were not too late.

Diving below a cloud he spotted the two masses of people. One carried the banners of northern houses and the Night’s Watch. Spotters below had seen them as some of the banners were waving to get their attention. The horde that was gathering for a charge was too horrible to contemplate. Corpses standing, walking, and preparing to kill. As a boy he had read the journals of Aegon the first. Recalling the section that had given him nightmares for years, he knew what evil they were facing.

He was not alone in that knowledge, as unbidden Vhagar let loose a primordial roar, before loosing her flames upon the undead. Her roar must have held some command to the younger dragons as they followed her example, turning the walking dead into ash. As the dragons let loose their flames his eyes scanned the battlefield, half for his nephews and half to seek the demon that brought these poor wretches back to life.

(Later on, the ground)

Daemon watched as his wife and nephews embraced, all animosity they had these past years forgotten in this one moment of shared relief. Rhaenyra’s relief to find they both lived, their relief that they had brought dragons to face the undead. Daemon was seriously contemplating heading into the lands of always winter to find the source of these monsters and put a permanent end to them.

After what felt like hours Aegon stepped back from the embrace allowing Daemon to pick Aemond up from his wife’s arms, “Where to princess?”

“Castle Black,” his wife sighed, “We should meet up with Cregan and tell him we have shattered the enemy.”

Aegon looked to Sunfyre, “I will ride to him and give aid if he still battles the foe.”

Rhaenyra nodded, “I will come with you,” she looked to Daemon, “Uncle, please look after Aemond, I do not think he was ready to face these monsters.”

“Just keep yourselves safe,” Daemon hoisted his nephew so he was easier to carry, “I will have Castle Black ready for your return,”

(Castle Black – Week Later – After Cregan and Alicent argue)

Rhaenyra slipped into Aemond’s room. The young man was sleeping fitfully, no doubt his mind replaying the events of the last couple moons. From the scouts spotting the encroachment of the Others, to the three failed attempts to stop them that created the army they had burnt the remains of just last week. Aemond was slow to recover following the battle, the maesters say he saw to many horrible things while holding the center.

With a start Aemond woke, “No do not open the door.”

“Aemond, it is alright,” she moved to the side of the bed but did not reach for him. The moment a week ago were they embraced was a fleeting thing driven by raw emotions and worry.

His single eye roving unseeing Aemond croaked out, “Sister, I cannot see you.”

“Aemond, it’s Rhaenyra,” she tightened her fists, half wishing it was herself he was calling for, “Helaena is right outside, I will go get her.”

His boney fingers snapped out like a whip as he grabbed her arm, “Sister do not leave me, they are coming for me. I see them every time I close my eyes, they are waiting for me.”

Already off balance from him suddenly grabbing her arm she allowed him to pull her onto the bed, “Shh, I will not leave you. They cannot get you here, we chased them away remember. They either fled our dead.”

The young man, who was behaving more like a young boy pressed himself into her side, “Just stay, I sleep better when someone is with me.” Aemond had a death grip upon her arm, “I am sorry sister.”

“Sorry, what for Aemond,” Rhaenyra sighed.

“My nephews, I called them Strongs and I have ridiculed them,” Aemond sighed, “Aegon told me what mother said, and I was just repeating. I should not have been so mean, including after they lost their father.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “I am going to tell you a secret Aemond,” she saw his eye open as he looked up at her, “Harwin could not sire children, nor did I ever actually lay with him. He was a friend, a good friend who helped me get out of a bad situation.”

“What?” Aemond frowned, “and how do you know Hawin could not sire children if you had not lain with him?”

Rhaenyra smirked, “Harwin liked to spend time in brothels. Laenor kept tabs on Harwin’s excursions.” Pausing she finally worked up the nerve to continue, “As to the aid he supplied, he pretended to be my lover to chase off Ser Cole. Criston is a boorish brute who believes himself entitled to me because he took my maidenhead.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, “You said took, you did not consent?”

“No,” Rhaenyra looked away, “He came to me to try and get me to run away with him. I believe he had learned of the betrothal between Laenor and I. When I refused him, he forced himself upon me, he was my sworn shield and my assigned guard for the night. When I went to inform father the next day, he did not believe me because the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard had already reported I had tried to seduce him but failed.”

“Why not tell Aegon or me,” Aemond choked, “or Uncle Daemon?”

Rhaenyra smiled, “Aegon was six and you were three. As for uncle, he was still married to his first wife and living in the Vale at the time. I tried to turn to your mother, we were less antagonistic at the time. She refused to believe me and claimed I got what I deserved for trying to seduce him.”

“That is why you went to Driftmark so swiftly after your wedding,” Aemond snarled, “When I get home, I will gut that vow breaking piece of filth.”

Petting down Aemond’s hair Rhaenyra sighed, “No you will not little brother. Ser Criston is too well respected, and the court believed his lies. When I am Queen, he will face justice.”

She felt him nod into her side, “I will be your champion if he even dreams of claiming a trial by combat.”

“We will face that when the time comes little brother, but I am pretty sure Daemon will want to fill that role,” She felt Aemond relax into her side. His grip had yet to relax so she leaned back to get comfortable, her eyes surveying the small room. It was then she realized they were not alone, Aegon and Helaena stood at the door shock and horror fighting for dominance.

Helaena was fighting back tears as Aegon fists slowly clenched and unclenched. Aegon moved first coming to the side of the bed she was on, “Is that all true?”

Bowing her head, the eldest nodded, “Every word.”

“Mother, truly said you deserved that?” Helaena shook her head, “Why would she say that?”

“You would have to ask her,” Rhaenyra glared, “After that encounter all pretenses of us being able to stand each other were ended.”

Aegon bowed his head, “Mother has been committing infidelity with Ser Cole, at least since shortly after Daeron was born. That is at least as long as I am aware of, but they may have been doing so longer. I confronted her about it shortly before we came North. She warned me that if it ever came out, it would put into question our parentage.”

Rhaenys reached up and pulled a lock of Aegon’s hair, “Really, question your parentage. Two people with black hair having children with Targaryen silver gold. I have no doubt we share a father, nor will I ever use what you told me to shame any of you.”

Helaena gasped as she realized something, “Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey are not your children, are they?”

“What makes you say that?” Rhaenyra questioned, a worried look on her face.

Eyes narrowed Helaena glanced at Aegon before speaking, “You said Laenor kept tabs on Harwin Strongs exploits. You half lied to Aemond. Harwin could father children, but he did not father them on you. Laenor could not or would not lay with you.”

“They have all been paired with dragons,” Aegon frowned, “Sister you are not making sense.”

“Their mother was a dragon seed,” Rhaenyra admitted, “We hoped they would have a bit more of the family look. Aunt Rhaenys is the only living person who knows the truth, besides the two of you now. Jacaerys knows and accepts that Aegon the younger would be my heir. Jacaerys was to get Dragonstone and Lucerys would get Driftmark.”

“Why the deception?” Aegon frowned, “If Laenor could not sire children, father could have found you a new match.”

Helaena frowned, “She could not do that either. Laenor was our cousin, she would have had to give away his predilections for father to find just cause for annulling the marriage. The shame to the family would be too great. Yet the boys hold no blood claim, or do they?”

“You made sure the children you collected were our kin didn’t you,” Aegon was able to piece it together, “Close relations?”

“Their mother was one of Aunt Rhaenys nieces, a daughter of her half-sibling that Uncle Aemon and Aunt Jocelyn kept under wraps.” Rhaenyra shook her head, “It was that or laying with Harwin myself, and after Ser Cole. I just could not, and Harwin would not break his vow to protect me.”

Aegon looked to Helaena, “Mother never hears a word of this. Secrets spoken in the North, stay in the North.”

Both sisters nodded before repeating, “Secrets spoken in the North, stay in the North.” Unheard by the three older siblings Aemond whispered the saying as he pressed tighter into his eldest sister’s side.

(Sunspear – 271 AC)

Doran Martell relaxed in his mother’s seat as petitioners went through their daily rounds of requesting things of the Prince. His mother was busy lecturing Oberyn on his expected behavior while in King’s Landing. He pitied his siblings being sent to the capital. Summoned by their high king to play their parts in the coming mummery. Everyone in the know, knows what Aerys plans.

The future Prince of Dorne glares at the stain glass image of his House Sigil over the door to the throne room. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken, their words were a joke to Doran. They ruled Dorne, but still bowed to the dragons, though the dragons had been dead for over a century now. His mother had sought out marriages for he and his siblings from north of the Red Mountains. She had been rebuked by Aerys for encroaching upon his territory.

Now they must ask permission to even speak with Houses other than those of Dorne or the North. Doran watches the petitioner awaiting permission to speak, “What do you need of House Nymeros Martell?”

“My Prince,” the man, was a sheep herder from the looks of it, “I come with a complaint. I am from a village a day’s ride from Starfall. The lady of Starfall refuses to restrain her beast. He slaughters sheep indiscriminately.”

Doran quirked a brow, “What would you have me do?”

“Command the Lord of Starfall to cage the beast or kill it,” the herder spat, “It is a vile vicious beast, it terrifies the livestock and our cattle are only giving curdled milk.”

“I see,” Doran frowned, “You ask me to overrule the decisions of the Lord of Starfall, Lord Dayne is a close friend of my House it is true. His sister attends my own as one of her ladies. Yet, you ask me to break a law of the realm. The beast you decry is a dire wolf, more importantly one partnered to a member of House Stark, though she is now of House Dayne. The fact remains that you do not bring me evidence that this dire wolf is the threat to your herds. You said your village is a day’s ride from Starfall. Of my understanding partnered dire wolves do not travel that far from their human companion. If you were from a village neighboring Starfall I would give credence to your words.”

The man dropped to his knees, “My Prince, please the beast is unnatural. It is an affront to the Seven to allow it to remain. It is a sign of Lady Dayne’s corruption of the honor of House Dayne.”

Doran rolled his eyes, “Guards, take this man to a cell until my mother can decide what to do with him. Petitioning the prince of Sunspear under false pretense is a crime, defaming your betters is also a serious crime. Also,” he looked at the crowd in general, “religious bigotry is a crime in Dorne, the punishment of which is having your tongue cut out.”

“Oh, dear brother so dramatic,” Oberyn appeared as the zealot was dragged out. The younger prince turned to the assembled crowed, “Oh, wow, you have not made much headway today,” Oberyn smirked to the gathered people, “Alas our noble young heir will have to disband this session of hearing petitions. Our mother has need of him in private. Come back after midday meals and you may even catch a glimpse of Dorne’s most cherished treasure.”

As the crowd dispersed Doran glared at his brother, “Laying it on a bit thick today brother?”

“After the morning I have had,” Oberyn scoffed, “This is me pretending to be in a good mood. Mother does not trust me to keep myself out of trouble in King’s Landing. I am to befriend the Crown Prince and Prince Eddard, while there. Eddard and I have much in common, both the spares of our elder brothers. Though, from what I have heard I have more in common with Crown Prince Brandon and you would more easily befriend Eddard and Crown Prince Rhaegar.”

Doran snorted, “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” Oberyn sighed, “There are far too many princes in this country.”

“There are five. The two of us, the three in the North, and Rhaegar.” Doran scoffed, “What we needed was more princesses. Elia and Lyanna, and Aerys wants them both for his son.”

Oberyn quirked a brow, “Truly, what of the Seven, or the Northerner’s faith for that matter. Do they allow polygamy?”

Doran nodded, “Yes, but they have not practiced it in recent years. From what I learned only northern kings could have multiple wives. Since they pretend being lords and not kings to the other regions. It would be a bit hard to explain why they are suddenly having more than one wife at a time.”

The brother departed the great hall in search of their mother, “Oberyn why did mother send you to interrupt court?”

“She wanted to give Elia some private pointers. I think she hopes Elia can dissuade Rhaegar from accepting the betrothal of Lyanna as well as our dear sister.” Oberyn shrugged, “I care not as long as Elia is not mistreated. No man is worthy of her, I am sure Lyanna’s brothers feel the same in that regard.”

“Assuredly,” Doran crosses his arms, “I was hoping you would be able to claim Lyanna for our House. It has been far too long since we and the North have united in marriage. Outside of the few instances we married members of the King’s Landing cadet house.”

Oberyn looked surprised, “Me? What about you?”

“I am old enough to be her father,” Doran indicated the fresh grey hairs at his temples, “Besides, I have my eyes set on another, as soon as mother approves the match we will wed.”

“Mellario?” Oberyn shook his head, “I’m not sure brother, she is nice to look at, but does she understand what being the consort to the Prince of Dorne means?”

Doran smiled, “Give her a chance brother, you somehow understand your tasks.”

“That is easy, do what I am told when I am told. I am the spare’s spare brother, at least until Elia is married to the Prince of the Iron Throne,” Oberyn frowned, “What are you plotting brother, truly?”

Glancing at his brother Doran shook his head, “The time is not right, the pieces not in their proper places. Mother sent an emissary to Uncle Rickard to ensure our good standing with him for lack of attending his little gathering.”

“Oh,” Oberyn sneered, “What did the old wolf have to say?”

“The emissary reported that relations between our two houses remain as they always have. Close, warm, and sworn kinship as we have been since the conquest. Rickard did send a message that he is irritated at Aerys wanting Lyanna for Rhaegar but knows of the King’s moods.” Doran frowned, “Be wary in King’s Landing little brother. His grace may seem a good man, but tales have been told of his mercurial moods. I believe Rhaegar and Eddard have mastered the art of appeasing him and turning his attentions to other matters when his moods sour.”

“A skill mother says Uncle Rickard pioneered when they were all young,” Oberyn laughed, “I will mind my manners in the King’s presence and avoid earning his ire.”

Doran nodded, “Good.” Looking down the hall he saw the door to their mother’s solar open. Elia sitting in view with their mother discussing something in lowered voices. Entering the solar the two brothers bowed to their mother. Doran smiled at the pair, “Mother, sister, how does the day find you?”

“Well brother, how was court,” Elia asked before their mother could.

“As well as it could be, Mother there is a new guest of the dungeons. A man came and spoke false against Lord Dayne and his lady wife, he also broke the law when he justified his actions based on his faith,” Doran glared, “I will have his tongue taken, but I felt the first charge would need to be decided upon by you.”

“Thank you, Doran,” his mother paused before nodding, “Taking his tongue will be punishment enough for both offenses. Yet as his crimes were an offense against House Dayne, I will have a raven sent to them to ask if they wish further restitution.”

Oberyn clapped, “You are as wise and just as you are beautiful dear mother.”

“Flattery will get you nothing Oberyn,” their mother smirked, “yet is appreciated my son. We must discuss the plans for King’s Landing.”

“Of course, mother,” Doran indicated Oberyn, “We had talked briefly on our way here in that regard. If Oberyn were to befriend the Princes, perchance they will agree to wed Princess Lyanna to him instead.”

His mother looked down her nose at him, “Possible, but unlikely. Besides word has reached me that Aerys had sent word to Lord Dayne inquiring about Lady Ashara. He is planning to match Eddard and Ashara and name the second son of House Stark as the new Stark in King’s Landing.”

“Would Lord Dayne’s future second son not inherit that title?” Elia frowned, “Lady Dayne is the only surviving heir of the last Stark in King’s Landing.”

“That is true, but they have yet to even have their first child and they have been wed for more than three years.” Doran spoke plainly, “My own informants believe the King is trying to ensure Eddard does not return North, he wishes the boy to remain in King’s Landing, and to serve as Rhaegar’s Hand.”

“Really,” Oberyn chocked, “There has not been a Hand who heralds from House Stark since Cregan Stark at the end of the Dance.”

His mother sighed, “The Hour of the Wolf, if the fools even knew. Cregan may have only held the title a single day, but he held the reins of power throughout the regency. People feared a second hour might come if Cregan was not appeased.”

“He and Qoren truly ruled the kingdoms then,” Doran smirked, “Especially with the economic blockade Princess Aliandra spearheaded when she took the crown of Dorne. What fool thought they would get away with trying to tax their betters. Aegon the Unlucky was too kind with how he dismissed his regency council.”

Elia rolled her eyes, “I am sure he had seen enough blood during the Dance. He did loose almost every member of his family in a matter of two years and was present when his mother was killed by Aegon the Usurper.”

(Dragonstone – 129 AC)

Rhaenyra sat staring at the wrapped bundle of cloths concealing her Visenya. The babe came too early and was gravely deformed, even had she lived the maladies she would suffer would have claimed her soon enough. Standing around the room her husband, sons, and aunt waited for her words. It had been the news of her father’s death compiled upon word of Aegon’s betrayal that had caused her miscarriage. At least that was what the maester had reasoned.

“Send word to my dear little brother,” Rhaenyra glared at her husband, “Tell him I will give him one chance to kneel and plead mercy. To give me the heads of those who conspired to rob me of my birthright. If he does not. I drag him back to the North and leave his traitorous hide to freeze upon the Wall for the rest of his days.”

“As you command my Queen,” Daemon bowed. He turned to the two eldest of her sons, “Jacaerys, fly to Dorne and then the North, inform them of what has transpired here, gain whatever aid they can make readily available. Lucerys, fly to the Lords Paramount and get their aid as well. Do not bother with any who have ties to the traitors on the small council.”

“What about me?” Joffrey pipped up, “Where should I go?”

Rhaenyra smiled at him, “You must stay here my little one, you must safeguard Aegon and Viserys. You do not want them to be lonely, do you?”

Joffrey puffed up his chest, “Of course not mama, I will protect them.”

Her Aunt shared a look with Daemon before speaking, “I will send for Baela and Rhaena, they will side with us of course. The Usurpers will pay for what they have done.”

(Year and a half later)

Fleeing King’s Landing was the hardest choice Rhaenyra had ever made. Word of her son Joffrey falling from her own Syrax had sealed her resolve though. She could not lose Aegon, he was all she had left. Lucerys had been murdered by Aemond within sight of Storm’s End. Jacaerys was slain trying to protect Aegon and Viserys, Aegon had escaped but Viserys was lost with his older brother. Now with Joffrey gone the secret of their births no longer mattered.

Rhaenys and Daemon too were dead, murdered by Aemond just as her poor Lucerys had been. It had taken both Aemond and Aegon to bring down Rhaenys. Two against one, the odds were never good. Especially with Vhagar being ridden by Aemond.

Sitting at camp Rhaenys pulled the unread letter from her pack of hastily gathered items. It had arrived a few days following the raven announcing the deaths of Daemon and Aemond. It held Aemond’s personal seal and was addressed to her. A maester had checked it for poisons before delivering it to her. She did not know what possessed her to grab it as they hurriedly moved to abandon the rioting city.

Breaking the seal, she recognized Aemonds messy scrawl he called handwriting, ‘Dearest Sister, I hope this letter finds you of better spirits. Word of my demise should quell some of the rage that drowns your heart. I have asked a man I trust to deliver this letter if I were to fall. Daemon is hunting me relentlessly through the Riverlands. I have heard the rumors of him laying with that dragon seed girl you uplifted to a dragon rider. I would not pay heed to such uncouth tales. Our uncle has his flaws, but infidelity was never one that I knew of, that is more of Aegon and my mother’s thing. I know, secrets said in the north remain in the north. I am sure the gods will forgive me seeing as if you are reading this, well they have more horrible crimes to punish me for. I will not ask forgiveness for what I did to Lucerys, it was unforgivable. He took my eye while protecting his brothers, and I took his life in turn. It was not an even trade, and I have had to live with that fact. No matter his birth he was my nephew and I caused his death, I pray forgiveness but not from you. Rhaenys was a casualty of war and while I regret her death, I had little choice, I had to choose between my brother and King or my aunt. Our dragons have been our family’s greatest power, we should never have turned them against each other. I must end this letter here unfortunately, dawn breaks and word has reached me Daemon is waiting at Harrenhal, and Cregan has brought an army south of the Neck. It is not every day one gets to choose their executioner. Between fire and ice, I fear them both. May the gods give us a new life, one where we do not suffer the mistakes of this one. In deepest regret, your brother.’

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat Rhaenys folded the letter and ran her thumb over the broken seal. Looking across the fire she noticed the fool Mushroom watching her with eyes far more knowledgeable than many gave him credit for. The dwarf had chosen to flee with her and Aegon, fearful of what may happen to him if Alicent was freed from the dungeons.

“Mushroom,” the dwarf took on his guise as a fool as he waddled around the fire.

He tumbled the last few feet coming to a half squat kneel at her side, “What can Mushroom do for your grace?”

“Tell me Mushroom,” her eyes narrowed, “What truly happened to my sister?”

“She went mad,” at the queen’s glare the fool coughed, “I meant mad with grief. Her sons dead, along with her brothers. Who knows where the usurper king is hiding? Her daughter may or may not be safe, we have not heard from the Baratheon.”

“Lord Baratheon knows what fate awaits him once I see him,” Rhaenys held the letter out to him, “You are the only one I can trust with this. I need you to deliver it to Lord Cregan. He rides south slaughtering the greens as he comes. Tell him I will go to Dragonstone, and once I have rallied my forces there will join him in putting King’s Landing back to rights.”

Mushroom frowned at the letter, “This is Prince Aemonds seal? Did he have a change of heart before the end? Did he tell you great secrets?”

Rhaenys smiled sadly, “It is his confessional, his final thoughts before his death came for him. I know Lord Cregan feels just as betrayed as I have, he relieved Aegon and Aemond from their pledges after only two years. Had they still been at the Wall when father died, maybe we would not have descended into such madness.”

Reaching forward Mushroom patted the Queen’s hand, “Mushroom will do as your grace commands, then I will hurry back to your side at Dragonstone.” The fool tucked the letter into his cloths before grabbing his meager belongs and heading out on his own.

(Sunspear – 271 AC)

Ashara Dayne watched as the servants worked at packing Princess Elia’s personal items for the journey to King’s Landing. They were in the process of deciding which garments to bring, and with to leave behind. It was a tedious affair, that thankfully Larra Blackmont was handling most of that, while Ashara was sorting through their princess’s jewels and baubles to see with they should take with them.

“What do you think Larra?” Ashara held up a necklace of polished silver and sapphires, “Does she have anything that would go with this?”

Blackmont’s brow raised, “Not that I have seen, but bring it. It is an heirloom from Princess Deira, a gift from her husband Torrhen at their wedding. I am sure we can find something at King’s Landing to go with it.”

“Yes, we are stopping in Starfall, though for the life of me I know not why,” Ashara sighed, “A ship from Sunspear to King’s Landing would be much quicker.”

“I know not, but it will be nice to see your good sister again,” Larra smiled, “There is a rumor going around the King wants you to match you with his ward, any truth to that?”

Ashara smirked, “It is half true, Arthur and Eddard have become fast friends. My good sister says his letters are full of the adventures they have undertaken at the behest of Prince Rhaegar. I believe my brother has whispered words in his grace’s ear that the match would be good.”

“You are old than him by only three years,” Larra smirked, “It is rare for such a match, where you are so close in age. He will one day return to the North will he not. I fear you may wither in such a cold and desolate place.”

Rolling her eyes Ashara placed the necklace in the box with the other baubles they were taking, “Dornish women have survived and prospered in the North for countless generations. Yet the match has yet to be set, my brother has likely not even mentioned to Prince Eddard he has made the suggestion.”

Larra nodded, “Good, then you can charm the northern prince yourself. Word has reached even here of his intelligence and I am sure with time he will prove himself an able warrior as well.”

“I would not hazard to speak on that,” Ashara frowned, “Arthur’s letter state that Prince Eddard only trains with his personal guard and they conceal their training within the god’s wood. That is a normal custom of the North, primarily of the Starks. Since they conceal their combat prowess outside of actual battle, many fear them. It is rare for one to fall in battle unless underhanded tactics are employed.”

“Rand the Wild Wolf is still only spoken of in hushed whispers around the Ullers, his taking of the Hellholt was quite a sore subject with my grandfather,” Larra sneered, “Mother said our ancestors got what they deserved for plotting rebellion against not only the Targaryens, but house Martell as well.”

Ashara frowned, her family had a single rule when dealing with Starks. Avoid any who were given the moniker of Wild Wolf, they were notorious for being governed by their emotions. There was also the lingering fact that while the Dornish were notorious for having loose morals, Starks labeled as wild had more than their share of bastard children.

“Ladies how comes the packing,” Ashara turned to find Princess Elia entering the room, “I would have been here sooner, but mother had a few final instructions for me. We take ship to Starfall with the tide in two days.”

“We were just speaking of that,” Larra smirked, “any particular reason we are taking the long way to King’s Landing?”

Elia smirked, “Word came from the Company of the Rose. There are pirates lurking about Shipbreaker Bay, so mother thought it best we take the land route. The commander of the Company’s naval forces apologized for the inconvenience as he drove them there while hunting them.”

“The pirates were smart,” Larra huffed, “They know to flee the Company, all they need do is enter Westeros controlled waters. Has Lord Baratheon not seen to them?”

“Lord Baratheon is still in the North negotiating trade deals with Uncle Rickard,” Elia smirked, “Word reached us about him competing in the Grand Melee.”

Larra sighed, giving a wistful look to her sheathed sword sitting next to the door, “Oh, how I have dreamed of being permitted to travel north for the melee. Father has only denied my requests since I have no siblings and the journey is quite perilous.”

“Lords Manwoody, Vaith, and Wyl, along with Sers Dalt and Santagar competed this year,” Elia supplied, “Along with a few noteworthy knights. Mother said they all had to fight under there northern cousin banners since so many guests were present for the melee.”

“Lucky our houses and the northern ones have intermarried so often,” Larra glanced to Ashara, “Poor Arthur would have to try and pretend to be a Stark though. How humorous would that be.”

Elia shook her head as she swatted Larra good naturedly, “Do not tease Ashara because the Daynes have only ever married into House Stark and House Targaryen outside of Dornish houses. She cannot help that her ancestors could garner such matches without trying, if only all houses were blessed with their good fortune.”

Ashara picked up a gown that had been on top of a pile meant for being discarded and tossed it at the pair, “You two are insufferable.”

(Riverlands – 131 AC)

Mushroom’s first clue he had found the man he was looking for was the row of banners of green houses topped by the heads of members of those houses. Chains of right hands tied together added to the gory scene. The battlefield Mushroom had crossed to reach this camp was a terrible sight. Reaching the guards standing in front of the camp the dwarf frowned, “I seek Lord Cregan Stark,” seeing the dire wolf on both men’s armor he lowered his voice, “the King of Winter.”

The guards shared a look before one spoke, his voice the sound of rocks being ground together, “What business do you have with the Magnar?”

“Queen Rhaenyra sends word,” Mushroom looked at the pair, but their wolf helms showed nothing, “she told me to seek your master to pass on something of grave import. Please, I must see to this task so I may return to her side.”

“Let him through,” they turned to see a woman in armor approaching, a white dire wolf on white blazoned on her chest plate, “If he has a message for my brother, he will see him. If he speaks false, Bloth is yet to have passed up a meal.”

“Lady Snow,” the guard bowed, “as you command.”

Mushroom followed Lady Snow into the camp. He knew her name was Sara, and that she was Cregan’s bastard sister, that she was also one of his commanders surprised the dwarf, “My lady, I am surprised you are here, would your brother not think it safer for you to remain in the North?”

“Safe?” Sara questioned, “It is the North, it is never safe. It is home, harsh and beautiful in equal measures, but safe it will never be. I pity you little foolish one, you know nothing beyond the petty games these summer lords play.”

“True, true,” Mushroom frowned, “When Jacerys returned from speaking with your brother. He seemed off, like he had only returned because duty demanded it.”

Sara quirked a brow, “The boy was sweet, but much too young for me little fool. Tell your tales as you want, but know to tread with caution, wolves do not show mercy to those who twist their tails.”

“Sage advice my lady,” Mushroom nodded before noticing the man they approached. Large and muscular with a full beard and no hair upon his head. He sat cleaning the Stark ancestral sword Ice, but his eyes quickly took note of Mushroom’s presence. The fool quickly knelt, “Your most frigid grace, I am Mushroom, court fool and confidante of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I come with words from her grace’s lips to your ears and carry a letter she wished to share with you.”

“Is that so?” Cregan set Ice aside before leaning forward upon his knees, “Then you are a bit late fool,” Cregan motioned to where a missive had been nailed to a post and used as target practice, “Aegon’s forces captured Rhaenyra and she was put to death on Dragonstone, fed to Aegon the Usurper’s dragon. The Usurper now travels for King’s Landing with Prince Aegon, and princesses Baela and Rhaena. I break camp at dawn, and any green who crosses my path will find only a traitor’s death awaits them at my feet.”

Mushroom felt the pinpricks of tears as the news tore at his heart, “I may not be a fighter, but I will come with you. I know many ways into the Red Keep.”

“So, do I,” Cregan snarled, “Through the front door, the corpses of the usurper’s lackies forming the carpet on which I tread. I will carve the name of every loyal man and woman slain in this war upon the Usurper’s hide before giving him the brands of the condemned and sending him to the gods.”

Fingering the letter hidden in his sleeve he produced it, “This is the confession of Aemond Targaryen, sent to my late queen upon the hour of his death. It was too late to change what was to come, but may it give you to solace it gave to my queen. That she was not alone in her remorse over the deaths that came.”

Mushroom watched as Cregan took and read the letter, he saw the furious expression of the northern king relax into one of calm understanding. That look though gave Mushroom a deeper sense of dread than the one of fury. This calm expression promised what was to come. The fury of the North was transforming into its natural state, a cold calculating storm of ice that came unexpectedly in the night. Mushroom knew it would take some weeks for them to reach King’s Landing, a part of him hoped the greens would not be foolish enough to stand in the was of this angry wolf.

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Tygett smirked as he watched Miriam redress after their second encounter, “I think a winter in the North will be most enjoyable. Your sure your father or brother will not kill me for this?”

The Thenn woman smirked, “I beat my father in open combat. He has no say on who I chose to lay with, though that he thought it was your brother who stole me was funny.”

“Not so funny for poor Gerion,” Tygett shook his head, “Do you need moontea?”

Miriam shook her head in the negative, “We have been careful, and if I do get with child, he will be Thenn, my father will take him to be raised by my mother if the Stark dismisses me.”

“Dismiss you,” Tygett frowned, “I would not think he would toss a pregnant woman to the streets; he seems far too honorable for that.”

“Luckily the Stark is not like my father,” Miriam sighed, “He would cast me out for laying with a man who heralds from lands south of the swamps.”

Standing Tygett began dressing, “I should probably head back to my chambers before my brothers notice I am gone. Will I get to see you before we depart?”

“I am with Lady Lyanna in the afternoon, but am not guarding her bedchambers tomorrow,” Miriam unlocked the door to her quarters, “We can meet at the same time.”

“Good,” Tygett brushed her hair over her ear, “I will see you then.”

After leaving the chambers of the household guard Tygett quickly made his way across the yard to the keep but halted at the sound of snarling. Turning he saw a large dire wolf watching him, three more were coming from the god’s wood and scrutinizing him, though not as forceful as the first.

“Lord Lannister,” Tygett paled at the sound of Rickard Stark’s voice, “A bit late to be wandering the grounds is it not?”

“Some may say it is early,” Tygett remarked, “Needed some air.”

Rickard stepped between him and the dire wolf, “Do not let old Scale Bane worry you, he is big, but his bark is definitely worse than his bite.”

“I have not notice that one before,” Tygett frowned, “Who does he belong to?”

Rickard shrugged, “Not sure, a lot of cousins and Stark Snows about, but his last partner I knew of was Allaric Snow and he has been dead since the Ninepenny Kings. Unlike the Targaryen dragons, our wolves do not often find new partners.”

“You called him Scale Bane,” Tygett chuckled, “He bite a Targaryen?”

Laughing Rickard shook his head, “Not quite. When he was a pup, Allaric took him with him on a trip into the Neck. Scale Bane killed a lion lizard. Allaric said he often found partially eaten lion lizards around whenever they were at Moat Cailin or near the Neck.”

Tygett nodded, “I should probably head back to my quarters.”

“That would probably be for the best,” Rickard’s expression hardened, “Lannister, heed my words. Harming any of my people will earn the wrath of not just me, but the wrath of every man and woman who claims the North as their home.” Tygett swallowed as Rickard turned to head for an archway they had been informed led to the crypts, “Just a friendly piece of advice.”

Successfully avoiding anyone else on his way back to his quarters Tygett had swiftly changed into fresh clothes after washing up. He waited till he heard Kevan and Gerion bickering in the sitting room before making his presence known, “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Ah, Tygett, your up,” Gerion chuckled, “I was just telling big brother here that Tywin is going to be irked you will be staying in the North all winter.”

Tygett frowned, “What are you talking about Gerion? I have the house, but I do not have to remain living here all winter. We discussed it last evening at the feast. I merely have to maintain the house, I could higher some northerners to tend to the house while not present. It will prove useful as Tywin has asked me to see to planning the joint fortification at Golden Tooth. I will need to visit the North regularly during the early stages. I do not want to overstay my welcome in Winterfell.”

Kevan was surprised, “Lord Rickard agreed to the proposition?”

“Yes, though there were a few stipulations,” Tygett smirked, “Stafford was originally going to be the commander of our forces present there, but Lord Rickard suggested I be given the honor instead.”

“Well, you did win the melee,” Gerion groused, “So that would probably give you some respect from the northern soldiers.”

“Agreed,” Kevan nodded, “You have earned it little brother, now let us go break our fast.”

Tygett nodded, “A splendid idea brother, I’m famished.”

(Later)

Watching Tygett enter the dining hall Tywin waved him to join him. He had purposefully sat away from their family to provide some privacy for this discussion. Tygett stopped a servant to place an order for his morning meal before joining Tywin, “What is the matter brother? This reminds me of when we would talk about father’s mistress behind his back.”

“I know where you were last night Tygett,” he enjoyed the pallor his brother gained at that statement, “I was talking with Lord Rickard towards the end of the feast and we watched the two of you leave together in the direction of the barracks.”

“That would explain Lord Rickard catching me this morning,” Tygett sighed, “Brother, it’s not what you think.”

Tywin’s brow raised, “Not what I think? My brother takes a pretty young woman back to her quarters and spends the majority of the night with her before slinking back to his chambers. This is not the first-time brother; I know you are not happy with the betrothal arrangement with the Marbrands. Tyg, I cannot undo all of father’s foolishness. Just as Genna had to marry Emmon, you will do your duty.”

“Do not Tyg me,” Tygett fumed, “I am to marry a cousin that is yet to even be born. I am twenty and one, am I expected to be a Septon until the Marbrands have a girl and she is of age to wed.”

“Tygett, this betrothal only strengthens our house,” Tywin hissed, “A free folk girl from the North does nothing to strengthen us, even if she is the daughter of one of their tribal chiefs.”

“King,” Tygett says flippantly.

Tywin frowned, “What?”

Tygett quirked a brow, “Miriam’s father is the Magnar of Thenn. Magnar would be closer to a king than a chief. The free folk chiefs lead clans, but all the Thenn clans answer to one magnar.”

“King?” Tywin frowned, “the free folk have a cast system?”

Shrugging Tygett poured himself a drink from the pitcher that had been set on the table, “I guess, she told me the Thenn have lords and such, but most other free folk balk at that. Their history is mostly oral, so passed from one generation to the next. Most free folk are descended from fallen houses; they do not remember the names because their ancestors purposefully left them out of the telling. Supposedly their ancestors sided with the Others during the long night and in turn were spared being slaughtered as long as they gave sacrifice to the Other’s god of winter.”

“She believes the Others still exist?” Tywin smirked.

“I laughed too, but the look she gave me stopped me quick,” Tygett looked serious, “She said her ancestors ignored Aegon the Conqueror’s warnings during the ranging of year seven. Her people suffered greatly and were eventually forced to head south. They made it to the wall just as winter ended, but found the gates closed to them. With half their people dead, they huddled in the shadow of the Wall, surviving on the scant supplies the Night’s Watch could lower to them.”

Tywin nodded, “Kevan said the gates are sealed during winter, the villages on the north side are moved to the south side of the Wall. It was because this process had begun, he was sent to recruit, they are cutting patrols in distance but have doubled the complements of those patrols.”

“Miriam said they do not usually attend the melee because it takes so long to travel from their normal territories,” Tygett frowned, “but because we are at the end of autumn they have moved to their winter camps near the bay of seals. Part of their treaty with the Magnar of Winter is if they blow a horn thrice then Eastwatch will open their gate to let the Thenn through.”

Tywin frowned, “Magnar of Winter? Who is that?”

Tygett shrugged, “Figured it was what they called the Starks before the conquest.”

“Before the conquest, the Night’s Watch were supposed to keep the free folk north of the Wall.” Tywin shook his head, “I know the Starks were the Kings of Winter, did the Targaryen kings inherit the title when Torrhen knelt.”

“Who knows,” Tygett shrugged, “Maybe it was a treaty with that Skagosi Clan called Magnar. Probably what she meant. Skagos is in the bay of seals.”

Tywin rubbed his chin, “Yes you are probably right.” Focusing on his younger brother Tywin sighed, “Do not promise this girl anything you cannot fulfill. You have a duty to our house.”

“I know dear brother,” Tygett watched as a servant brought his food and sat it before him, after the servant left, he continued, “she is not like most girls we know brother. She does not care about our gold or power. She sees me as a warrior, my personal strength is all she cared about.”

“Gerion fought beside her, what made her chose you over him,” Tywin asked, “She could very well be laying with him as well.”

Tygett smirked, “I fought through this,” he indicated his stitched-up face, “and she thinks Gerion is a pompous fool.”

“Just be careful brother,” Tywin glowered, “We have perhaps better relations with the North now than we have had in centuries. I will not have you bungle all my hard work over a pretty face.”

Tygett laughed, “Better not let Joanna hear you call another woman pretty.” Tywin rolled his eyes as he stood to leave.

(King’s Landing – 271)

Aerys entered the tower to see craftsmen working with Grand Maester Reed checking plans with the foreman before glancing up, “Your grace, welcome, welcome, work is progressing well.”

The King raised a brow at the small man, he had been surprised to find his new Grand Maester was originally from the Neck. A crannogman, Avar was a distant cousin of the current Lord Reed but joined the Citadel at his cousin’s behest. Aerys glanced at the shiny reflective panels being affixed to the wall, “Will this work?”

“I may need to adjust the angles of the reflecting panels at the windows, but from my study of the celestial bodies this tower will give the best lunar lighting throughout the year. It is also high enough to avoid unwanted lighting from passing guards and the keep’s torches.” Avar seemed quite excited, “If this attempt does not succeed, I have another plan, but it would require removing the roof and require myrish glass of very specific size and quality.”

“Sounds pricy,” Aerys fumed, “Let us hope this works. When will it be ready to test?”

Avar moved to the window and began adjusting a few ropes, “There, we should be able to test it this evening. I would have someone go to Lady Shiera and ask her to project herself here. If you do not mind, I would like to be here to observe and record the outcome of this experiment.”

Aerys nodded, “Of course Grand Maester, it did take three nights of you sitting under the Great Tree for Shiera to appear to you. I was surprised a man trained at the Citadel would so readily believe that a woman nearly a hundred years in age lived below the Great Tree.”

“Trained by the Citadel I may be,” Avar puffed his chest out proudly, “but a son of the North and a follower of the old gods I am as well.”

“Good, good,” Aerys smiled, “Let us hope all of this works. You have kept it quiet from the rest of the small council have you not?”

“Yes your grace, as you requested,” Avar began moving about the room polishing the smooth metallic surfaces he had affixed to the walls, “I told the master of coin I was running an experiment in reflected light to illuminated areas of the keep where torches may be too dangerous to use.”

(Later)

Aerys watched as the sun dipped below the horizon and the room was plunged into semidarkness. Avar stood at the window making minor adjustments. Aerys had been hard pressed to figure out who to send to speak with Lady Shiera, she was rather picky about who she would reveal herself to, and there were few she would always appear for.

He found after speaking with Gerold that Connington was the best bet. Even knowing the illusion could not harm him, the boy was still easily spooked by her. Terrifying the young man seemed to provide some entertainment for her, thus an hour ago Connington had resignedly ridden towards Rhaenys Hill.

It was an hour after sunset, and Aerys patience wearing thin that something happened. A faint blue glow began to emanate from the middle of the room. The glow increased in intensity until a figure appeared standing within the room, he immediately noted the pale silver-gold hair and mismatch eyes. 

Shiera Seastar stood smiling, before taking note of his crown and curtsying, “Your grace, how can this humble daughter of your forbearer be of assistance.”

“Oh, Grand Maester you have more than earned your position,” Aerys took on a regal stance, “My many times great aunt, I have heard you can project yourself where you may wish in the city. Could you do so to seek out those who plot against me?”

Shiera frowned, “I could, there is some problem with doing so.”

“What problem?” Aerys frowned.

The illusion blinked, “I have to focus upon an individual to project myself beyond the roots of the Great Tree. Here I focus on you yourself, your grace. I would need to know who I am focusing on, usually when I project myself it is to my own kin. At this time that is limited to Rhaegar, Rhaella, and yourself. I wish I could see Aemon, but I am not strong enough to project so far.”

“I see, if his grace were to bring someone, he suspected to you here or to the Great Tree. You could follow them from that point, could you not?” Aerys blinked at Avar, the man was proving himself a valuable asset.

Shiera quirked a brow, “It would not have to be limited to either place. I can project myself without being seen. Let me know of a meeting with the plotters and I can follow them from anywhere within the walls of King’s Landing.”

“I do hope you have not called upon me to serve as a spy your grace,” Shiera winced, “It is quite tiring to jump from one location to another, but the jumpy young lord made it seem it was urgent I come here quickly.”

“I am sorry if young Connington made you worry,” Aerys sighed, “I will call upon my wife and we could talk of grandfather, among others.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Shiera seemed to brighten, “I have not had a true conversation in far too long.”

Avar shuffled some notes, “I will go find her grace, I have taken enough notes and would not wish to intrude.”

“Thank you Grand Maester,” Aerys moved to a chair, “While we wait, perchance you could tell me of grandfather, King Maekar wrote much about you in his personal journals, but failed to mention anything of your fate. His last entry that mentions you states you drank poison to save Aegon.”

“Oh, where to begin,” Shiera smirked, “Maekar was more a brother than those who were my brothers. We grew up together, and before Lady Dyanna was brought to court he told his father he would marry me. I am sure that was why Queen Myriah made arrangements with the Daynes.”

“Yes, yes,” Aerys nodded, “The journals revealed that, but he said it was boyhood crush that as he grew he realized was just that. Though, he never saw a man he believed deserved you.”

They continued speaking of Maekar until Rhaella arrived. At that point the conversations moved on to many of their kin now long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Tywin is smart, including when something smacks him in the face.  
> -Miriam is a Thenn so she does not understand the secrecy or the game that the rest of the North is involved in. Tygett was a bit distracted while they were talking so when she said Magnar of Winter he didn't actually realize the implications. Good thing big brother Tywin is a bit more quicker on the uptake.  
> -The scene between Mushroom and Cregan is in lieu of Rhaenyra being captured and fed to Sunfyre. I did not feel like writing that scene from her perspective.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, half the chapter was written a couple of weeks ago, but then I got distracted by life and some other stuff.  
> Well enjoy, and hopefully it will not be two weeks for the next update.

(King’s Landing – 131 AC)

The city streets were silent as Northern Foot marched along every street and alleyway. Warriors in plate and leathers with wolf helms moved with determination like they were hunting. A scream down an alley was followed by three Winter Wolves dashing into the alley, emerging moments later dragging three men in Tully livery. The small folk watched as a massive man with an angry giant on his shield ride up to the group, “What have we here?”

“Rapists my lord,” another Winter Wolf appeared with a young girl covered by the soldier’s cloak, “We pulled them off her.”

The Umber nodded, “Take the girl to be seen by a healer. Take these three to their liege lord, tell him if I ever see them again then they will not live long.”

The men nodded before moving to carry out their orders. The Umber turned at the sound of horses to find Cregan riding towards him, “Lord Umber, have we secured the city?”

“Just about,” Umber snarled, “Gone a bit faster if the damn fishes and falcons kept a tighter hold on their men. Did we truly need their help in taking the city?”

“They are fellow loyalists to the late Queen,” the dwarf at Cregan’s side answered, “They and the rest wish to see an end to this horrible war just as we do. To see Rhaenyra’s murders punished.”

Cregan snarled, “As well as those who poisoned Aegon the Usurper. Such men cannot be trusted.”

“Of course, your oh so wrathfulness,” Mushroom gave a dramatic bow of acknowledgement, “Shall we make for the Red Keep.”

“Not quite yet,” Cregan led the others to the Stark manse. The yard was full of dire wolves and there was the telltale stench of death hanging in the air. Cregan dismounted and approached the gate, the massive dire wolf Bloth appearing at his side, “Cousin, get out here and open this damned gate.”

“I’m coming you cantankerous pup,” an older man with the long face and grey eyes of the starks came to the gate, his guards at his back, “Took your own sweet time getting here Cregan, been a bloody mess this city. Aegon had put it back to some rights, but he came back with his head more than a bit addled. Started spouting about reforms for the Faith, naming his fallen kin to places among the gods. High Septon would have said something had he not already been hiding in here. Fled from some bloke the small folk were calling the Sheppard. My wolves finished him off in less time than it takes them to eat a shepherd’s pie.”

The guards opened the gate and the two Starks embraced. Cregan sighed, “Doran, any word on who did my work for me?”

“You mean Aegon’s poisoning,” Doran Stark shook his head, “No can say, Princess Baela escaped the Keep along with her siblings while Aegon was on his way to the Sept on Visenya’s Hill. I was busy making sure they safely arrived here.”

Cregan nodded, “Understood, when they are ready, tell them the Red Keep awaits their return.”

“Just make sure you make it only as red as it was before you arrived cousin,” Doran glared, “The bloody trail you made of the kingsroad is already well known of.”

(Winterfell – 271 AC)

Tywin Lannister was half disappointed their visit in the North was at its end, but the time had come. A raven from the Wall had come with news of the first true snows of winter. Rickard had finalized deals with each present lord paramount, even if some left with less than they desired. At least one was leaving with more than he wanted to.

Mace had been unsuccessful in pawning his mother off on Rickard or Jon Arryn. Mace was leaving the North quite a bit richer and with a lucrative trade deal. Lord Steffon Baratheon had secured ironwood for both his own fleet and for the royal fleet. Baratheon had tried for a betrothal between Robert and Lyanna, but Rickard had refused as Starks were not to marry southern houses without the King’s consent. Jon Arryn had tried for a mutual defense pact against the mountain clans, but Stark had blatantly refused to get involved with the Vale’s internal problems, when Jon asked about taking Benjen as a ward instead of Eddard the offer was turned down.

“Lord Hand,” Tywin noticed a young man of nine name days approach, “Pardon, but father wanted me to make your acquaintance before we departed.”

Tywin smirked, “I take it you are Brandon Stark, I thought you would return for the melee?”

“I would have but my friend William Dustin was thrown from his horse while we were riding the Rills,” Brandon shook his head, “He managed to only dislocate his shoulder and break his wrist. We were guests of the Ryswells while he recovered.”

“There were a few Ryswell men at the melee,” Tywin huffed, “Well good I bet on none of them, not a one progressed far.”

Brandon nodded, “I heard, passed them on my way into Winterfell. Father asks I accompany you to Greywater.”

“You’ll be accompanying my family and the Tyrells then,” Tywin sighed, “I have been too long gone from King’s Landing and need to make haste back to my post. I intend to travel with Lord Baratheon, he has offered my son and I passage on his ship.”

“Then I will see your wife, daughter, and other kin safely to Greywater,” Brandon looked to the amassing lords and ladies prepping to leave, “Winterfell will seem empty now.”

The massive column leaving Winterfell that day traveled together as far as castle Cerwyn. Tywin and Jamie said their goodbyes to Joanna and Cersei as their group traveled towards White Harbor. It was that night that Tywin got his first glimpse of the real Jon Arryn.

Jamie and he were sharing a meal with their guards when they overheard the raised voices, “What do you mean my ship is not waiting at White Harbor?”

The old lord was glaring at a youth wearing skins, Tywin had heard the North employed free folk runners as messengers, “Sorry my lord, but that is what the merman told me, he said the falcon will need to send word to the sisters for his ship to pick him up. I know nothing else but what I was bid to say.”

“Damn heathen,” Arryn groused, “I would get more information from a damn bird. Why these northerners rely on you savages for anything is beyond me.”

“Come now Jon,” Steffon appeared, “Don’t be so hard on the lad, he is only a messenger.”

“Umph,” Jon waved the lad off, but he obviously thought the lord was going to strike him as he backpedaled before falling on his backside, “damned fool, get out of my sight.”

Jon disappeared into his tent as the boy scurried to get up. The boy was passing their group when Tywin waved him over, “Have need of a message ran somewhere my lord?”

Tywin shook his head negatively, “No, would you mind joining my men, I do not believe you will find much hospitality from the Vale contingent.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the lad bowed, “Name is Finn.”

“Tywin Lannister, lord of Casterly Rock, lord paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West. I am also the Hand of the King of the Iron Throne, but your people do not bow to him, do you?” Tywin asked as he introduced himself.

Finn was handed a bowl of stew by one of Tywin’s guards, “No lord lion, we do not kneel.”

“Yet you obey Lord Stark?” Tywin asked, “You’re the first of the Free Folk I have talked with who refer to nobles by their house sigil.”

“It was how I was taught, not the brightest runner that be truth,” Finn huffed, “The merman said there’s nothing wrong with my head, just have a hard time getting what’s inside out. Names too hard to say, sigils easier.”

From his place next to Tywin, Jamie spoke up, “Merman? You mean the Lord Manderly of White Harbor?”

“That be the one,” Finn smiled, “He was not happy, had to miss the melee because of all the problems.”

Tywin frowned, “What problems?”

“Problems at the harbor,” Finn sighed, “New Septon arrived at the sept, he a decent sort. Not one of them who keeps calling us all heathens and savages. Some of the crew of the Falcons ship went up to the sept, made gift of coins to the sept. The septon then gifted the coins to some free folk kids in need of a good hot meal. The Falcons crew take offense at that. They say the septon was wrong for giving coins to savage children because they worship false gods. We take offense at that. A fight broke out, the merman sent the Falcons ship away.”

“Father, why would Lord Arryn’s men be angry the Septon was handing out alms to the poor?” Jamie asked innocently.

With a grumble Tywin pulled a stag from his coin pouch, “It appears I do have a message for you to deliver Finn. Tell the merman that the lion is coming and will be leaving with the stag. The lion appreciates that while as a fellow member of the Faith, that the merman protects the Iron Thrones edicts against faith-based acts of violence. Tell him if the falcon gives him any trouble, that I will assist in any way I can.” Finished Tywin smirked, “Did you get all that?”

“I my lord,” Finn nodded, “I’ll run it right away.”

Tywin halted the man, “Rest and break your fast with my men in the morn, then head off. I am sure your feet are much swifter than this column.”

“Aye my lord, those fancy carts just slow you down,” Finn said before one of the Lannister men motioned him to follow him to a tent he could use.

Tywin noticed his son looking at him, “A man must choose his allies wisely Jamie, remember that. The Arryns have long been out of favor with the king. The Manderlys are one of the most powerful houses in the North and one of the few with active communications with the south. They are the trade hub, and if it were not such a long voyage, we would do more trade with the North.”

Jamie frowned, “Is that why you wanted to have the Northmen come to the Westerlands father?”

“Aye Jamie,” Tywin nodded, “This is the first step in my plans to raise our house to even higher heights. With the Tullys out of favor with Lord Stark, they are out of favor with his grace. With Northmen at the Golden Tooth, we will be intrinsically tied to any potential battle plan in future conflicts.”

Looking like he was trying to figure it out Tywin allowed his son to think on his words. Finally, Jamie look at him, “Because if the North were to send orders to the men at Golden Tooth, our men there would become aware and inform you of what was going on.”

“Well done my son,” Tywin smiled, “and depending on how things are progressing we can either join our force quickly or prevent the Northmen from taking action.”

Jamie’s brow furrowed, “Wouldn’t Lord Stark be aware of that too?”

Tywin nodded, “Yes, and that is why we must maintain a good relationship with the North, so they do not expect it if we need to do what is best for our House.”

(King’s Landing – 271 AC)

Arthur was having a very strange day. He had awoken to Gerold’s newest page delivering his breakfast, that was not strange in of itself, what was strange was the sun was already brightly shining through his window. It was mid-morning, Arthur had been known to oversleep once or twice, but had never slept in so long past dawn.

“Noah,” Arthur addressed the page as the younger boy helped him into his armor, “did Lord Commander tell you not to wake me at the normal time today?”

“No Ser,” Noah was still getting used to buckling armor, so it took longer than normal for each strap, “I came at the normal time, and Ser Grandison told me to let you sleep. Said you and Ser Oswell were late coming back to the tower last night. Ser Oswell is still asleep.”

“Ah,” Arthur frowned, “am I late relieving any of my brothers?”

Noah shook his head, “Not to my knowledge. His Grace and the Crown Prince are both in the small council. Ser Barristan, Ser Jonothor, and Ser Gerold are with them. Ser Gwayne is with the Queen, he relieved ser Harlan this morn.”

Arthur sighed, “Good, shall we head down to the training yard and work on your sword skills. A good archer you are, but your work with the blade is balefully lacking.”

“Aye Ser,” Noah smiled, “Caleb should be waiting for me in the yard.”

“Good,” Arthur grabbed dawn and headed for the door, “Let us head down.”

Supervising the pages as they practiced in the yard was a normal part of Arthur’s duties. Each of the Kingsguard took time to ensure the squires and pages were worthy to be associated with them. It was a sound of surprise at the entrance to the yard that drew his attention away from the pages training.

A woman with a spear and wearing a black half helm had entered the yard and was headed towards him unimpeded. He knew the woman’s identity, the Widow, the leader of Eddard Stark’s guards. She had appeared in the White Sword Tower’s training yard a few times before, each to challenge a member of the Kingsguard to a spar. Only Sers Gerold, Harlan, and himself had yet to be challenged.

Arthur swallowed hard as she stopped before him and embedded her spear in the ground, “My lady, may I ask what brings you here today?”

Sure, her spear could stand on its own she released her hold upon it and removed her helm, “Ser Arthur, you are regarded as a prodigy with the sword. I would test myself against you.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Arthur sighed, “Oswell still bares the bruises from the friendly spar you gave him last week.”

The Widow smirked, “He should have ducked. Are you up to a friendly spar?”

“Aye,” Arthur turned to the boys in the practice ring, “That’s enough lads, seems my time has come.”

It took a few minutes to get ready, and Arthur was surprised when the Widow picked a tourney sword for the spar instead of her spear. The match began with them sizing each other up, Arthur frowned when he noticed no opening within her stance. He would have to wait for her to make the first move, which she did quicker than he expected. Forcing him to parry her first attack and slip under her second strike.

Arthur was surprised by the swiftness of her strikes as she struck twice more before retreating to a ready stance. Once more he failed to see an opening but knew better than to wait for her to strike. Feigning right he went for her left, but the Widow read his moves dodging the attack and striking at the opening his strike had made. Following through with his strike he rolled over her blade, coming up with a flourish he brought his sword up to mimic a kill strike to her side.

“I yield,” the Widow grinned, “Come to the godswood after midday. Perchance you will prove a challenge for my young lord. He has run through the guards, and I must find a challenge for him.”

Snorting Arthur sheathed his sword, “That is why you have been shaming my brothers? Why not ask us to spar with Lord Eddard, we would be happy to.”

“If they could not best me then they are not worthy to face Eddard,” the Widow bowed her head, “I lost to him far too quickly. He has seen you and the Prince spar and that has driven him to improve far quicker than his father calculated he would. I believe he has been training in secret.”

Arthur turned as he heard Noah speak up from the railing, “He has my lady, I saw him once in the godswood with that massive sword of his.” Arthur had forgotten the boy followed the old gods; he had been meaning to get him to speak with a Septon as he would need to at least claim the Seven to gain a knighthood in the future.

“Massive sword?” Arthur winced, “Eddard is already using a greatsword?”

The Widow chuckled, “Not quite yet, but the longsword he practices with is larger than normal. A Stark training method for only one can wield Ice, but the Starks are known for wielding greatswords.”

Arthur had been with Ser Gerold when the manse of the Stark in King’s Landing was sealed. A chamber in a lower level was called the hall of swords. The walls held the greatswords of each member of the household since Brendon Stark. He could believe the sight of a few members of that house walking around the streets carrying their greatswords was quite intimidating.

“I have guard duty at midday,” Arthur sighed, “I can spar with him this evening if that will work.”

“It will do,” with that the Widow left with little ceremony placing the tourney sword on the rack before retrieving her spear and exiting the yard.

And so, began Arthur’s strange day.

(Red Keep – 131 AC)

Cregan walked among the men who claimed themselves loyal to the rightful queen. To him they were a pack of dogs barking at what they thought was rightfully theirs. Many claimed the right sit upon the regent’s council, others claimed they were owed seats upon the small council to rule their rightful king’s name until his majority. To him they were a bunch of vermin needing a learn to shut the hell up.

None dared approach the throne, the dire wolves gathered there were quite intimidating. Cregan passed through them without a problem to sit upon the lowest step, “The rightful King Aegon and his royal sisters will arrive shortly. Doran Stark was hosting them within his manse.”

“They are well then?” Lord Tully asked, “I mean your cousin does house quite a number of dire wolves. Not that I think he lacks control of the beasts, but it would be horrible to think harm befell our King.”

Cregan smirked, “As long as I am around this will not become the year of four monarchs. While we wait, why don’t we clean house a bit.” With a motion of his hand Cregan signaled his men to apprehend those who had been loyal to Aegon the second, “Traitors who turn their cloaks a second time cannot be trusted. In the name of the king I place you under arrest, once Aegon selects a Hand they will see to you.”

Corlys Velaryon pulled free of the man who had grabbed him, “Cregan Stark, in the name of our ancestors I seek council.”

“Council?” Cregan fumed, “Fine, leave him be. Velaryon, approach, the wolves will not harm you.”

Dipping his head Corlys approached, “Thank you, my lord,” passing through the wolves he knelt next to Cregan, “I know not what you have heard of my actions. I was a loyal man to Rhaenyra, but she wronged me too many times. She abandoned my wife to slaughter, and I feared what she would do to Addam. He was and Alyn is a good lad.” Corlys lowered his voice, “Your grace, I have already lost my wife and both my true born children. The boys were all I had left; I could not bear them facing Rhaenyra’s wrath. She was mad with grief by then, she believed the rumors her husband was laying with the dragonseed rider that was following him. A good loyal girl who’s only fault was being a woman and a target to drive a wedge between our queen and her consort.”

Cregan patted his shoulder, “Were you involved with poisoning Aegon?”

“No,” Corlys shook his head, “I was advising him to surrender, to take the black. I was trying to end the war, that is why I sent messages to the Lannister, Baratheon, and Hightower.”

Standing Cregan helped the smaller and older man to his feet, “You will be watched Corlys, your granddaughters will be allowed to visit. Once your boy returns to the capital, I will speak with you all.” Cregan turned to one of his men, “See Lord Velaryon is escorted to his chambers. He is to be watched.”

As Lord Velaryon was escorted from the chamber the doors opened admitting Doran Stark with a cohort of his household guard standing protectively around Aegon and his half-sisters. The eleven-year-old king broke from his guards and ran though the pack of wolves stopping before Cregan, “Mother said you would come, Uncle said you’d make everything right again.”

Cregan glared at the assembled lords, “If that is what you want my king, I will put the kingdom back to rights. Did Doran tell you the words to say?”

“He did,” Aegon pulled a pin from his sleeve, “Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, Magnar of Winter, I name you Hand of the King.” Aegon handed the pin over, “I charge you with putting my realm back in order.”

“I humbly accept this honor your grace,” Cregan took the pin and affixed it to his mail, “I will begin by dealing with those who started this horrible mess.” Cregan motioned for Aegon to ascend the throne which the boy did carefully. Cregan focused on the gathered lords, “What remains of the small council that named Aegon the second to the throne over his sister?”

Roderick Dustin guided a blind Tyland Lannister forward stopping his approach when the wolves growled, “My lord, this Lannister was King Viserys Master of Ships. He was captured by the Manderly ships on his way to Essos.”

“Trying to flee Ser Lannister?” Cregan growled, “No, you have too much pride to be craven. You sought sellswords to aid the Usurper’s war efforts.”

“It is as you say my lord,” Tyland swallowed his throat dry, “If I might make a request, I have been the guest of the dungeons once before. It would be much appreciated if you just got to the point and killed me here and now.”

Cregan laughed, “You have some stones I’ll give you that. For whatever reason Rhaenyra did not execute you with the rest of the small council members who betrayed her, I will not see you suffer more. You will be made comfortable until I make a final decision. You obviously did not have a part in the Usurper’s murder, we will speak again soon.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Tyland bowed, “My actions have brought the death of my brother and suffering for my kinsmen in the Westerlands. My Lord I know the Iron Born trouble the North as well, but you hold some power over them. Please, bring them to heel.”

“The Red Kraken will be dealt with soon,” Cregan turned to Lord Dustin, “See Ser Lannister is seen to.”

Roderick nodded motioning to one of his men to guide the blind Lannister out. Roderick turned to Cregan seriously, “My lord, as you know I would not be standing here today without the loyalty of my personal guards, who helped me to fell Lord Ormund Hightower and his kinsmen Ser Bryndon Hightower.”

Cregan smirked, “That you toppled two Hightowers in one day has raised your name high back home. Your guards of course have my thanks and will receive great rewards once we are back in the North.”

“Thank you my lord,” Roderick then motioned for guards to bring forth Larys Strong, “King Viserys master of whispers, Lord Strong also appears to have had a hand in poisoning the Usurper, Grand Maester Orwyle admits to giving the poison to Lord Strong.”

“I see,” Cregan nodded, “Take him to the dungeon and drag a confession out of him and find the names of any conspirators he might have had.”

“Of course,” Rodrick summoned another guard to escort Strong away as Grand Maester Orwyle was brought forward, “Queen Rhaenyra had Orwyle arrested for taking part in the theft of her throne but had not yet signed the decree for his execution.”

Cregan frowned, “You steal the throne from the rightful heir and then provide the poison to slay the one you placed in her stead. You are a Maester, not a kingmaker. Your order’s mandate is to serve and record history not to make it. We will make an example of you Grand Maester, so your brothers of the Citadel remember their place.”

Orwyle sighed, “I knew this day would come. The wolves do not fight dragons, the dragons do not fight wolves. When either calls the other will appear. Now the most savage of the wolves is standing before me and my crimes lay bare for all to see. I did not intend to involve myself in this sordid affair, but like many others was dragged along by the ambitions of others.”

“Yes, that you have,” Cregan crossed his arms, “You have the blood of thousands upon your shoulders. I will give you time to think and provide a confession to all your crimes.”

The Grand Maester bowed before being escorted from the room. It was silent as Alicent and Jaehaera were brough forth. The Dowager Queen glared and refused to kneel, “Cregan Stark, we meet again.”

“We do,” Cregan’s jaw clenched, “as much as I would enjoy having my wolves rip you to pieces. I am not in the habit of killing women and children. I have heard some of the lords wish to wed Aegon to Jaehaera to end this bloodshed. That will not come to pass.”

“As hard as it is to admit,” Alicent scowled, “we are in agreement. My granddaughter is the rightful Queen.”

“No,” Cregan growled, “She is not.” Cregan turned to the crowd, “Master Mushroom, if you would enlighten the court.”

Waddling into view the fool leered at Alicent, “Oh, my Lord Hand how can this humble fool be of service.”

Cregan glared, “Tell the court what you know of the dowager queen’s dalliances.”

Alicent’s eyes widened as she paled. Mushroom chuckled, “Oh, I couldn’t, but I must. Before my late queen summoned me to Dragonstone before the Dance began, I was privy to much that happened within these walls. No one ever looks twice at a dwarf, their own folly this is. In the later days of King Viserys’ reign I did happen to see Alicent and the Lord Commander Ser Criston Cole share a number of intimate moments.”

“You lair,” Alicent raged, “I demand this imp’s tongue be ripped from his filthy mouth this instant. He dares slander his betters. Lord Stark you cannot believe these salacious lies.”

“Oh,” Mushroom chuckled, “I speak only truth, but if what I say is untruth let one of these wolves bite off my head.” When none of the wolves made a move the fool continued, “Along with these sightings of the pair in improper behavior. I was privy to a conversation between the Usurper and his one-eyed brother. They were discussing the matter of their mother’s infidelity and how to handle it. The Usurper reminded his brother about something, he said secrets said in the North remain in the North. I knew not what he meant by that.”

“It’s an old saying,” Willis Fell stepped forward, “Your grace,” he bowed to the throne but directed his greeting to both the boy and the man standing before it. “It means that any secret spoken while in the North will be kept by both parties while in the south.”

“Ser Fell your time will come,” Cregan growled, “or do you have something to add to the matter at hand.”

“I would not speak out of turn Lord Hand unless it was so,” Fell glanced to where Ser Marston and Ser Gyles stood nervously, they were all that remained of the Kingsguard. Fell looked back to Cregan, “Each brother of the Kingsguard knew of Ser Criston and the Queen. Ser Criston was favored and well respected. King Viserys would heed his words over those of anyone even his own daughter. Not to speak ill of the dead, but Ser Criston was a vile sorry excuse for a man who sullied his cloak more than once.”

Cregan frowned, “I see, when did they begin their improper relationship?”

“The exact date is not known, but I can assure you Queen Alicent’s children were each true. If there had been even a hint that they were not, I would not have sided with the greens had that been so.” Fell glared at the dowager queen, “As that may, I will not allow the princess to suffer for her grandmother’s mistakes.”

Cregan nodded, “That I agree with. The princess will no longer be allowed to see the dowager queen. Alicent Hightower will be imprisoned within her chamber in Maegor’s holdfast. Though, she will not be alone. I will requisition portraits of every noble slain in this conflict of her design. The portraits will be affixed to the walls of her chamber so she might spend the remainder of her days faced with those she consigned to an early grave.”

“Lord Hand?” Aegon spoke up, “won’t she just tear down the portraits?”

“She might,” Cregan snickered at Alicent’s glare, “but they will be replaced at House Hightower’s expense. Alicent gapped like a fish as Cregan continued, “I’m thinking large ones of the members of House Targaryen.” Cregan stepped towards her, “Let her live a long life surrounded by self-made enemies and her slain kin.”

(Starfall – 271 AC)

Elia followed her friend into the younger girl’s home. Ashara’s eldest brother stood with his wife awaiting them, her younger sister was not present. Lord Dayne knelt before her, “Princess, Starfall is yours.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Elia bid him to rise, “Our trip from Sunspear was uneventful, I do pray the rest of the journey to King’s Landing will be just as uneventful.”

Lord Dayne nodded, “It should be the roads have been safe as late, the bandits fearful as many lords have been following his grace King Aerys example and scouring their lands of undesirables.” Lord Dayne then turned to his younger sister, “Ash, it is good to see you.”

“And you brother,” Ashara smiled, “I hear Arthur is trying to sell me off. Our cousins to the North, and a second son no less.”

Lord Dayne lowered his voice, “We should speak in my solar sister, were there are fewer ears about.”

Elia notice he was glancing at Larra as he spoke, “Perhaps the servants can see me and Lady Blackmont to our rooms while you get reacquainted with your brother and his lady wife.” Elia was sure Ash would share whatever her brother wanted to say in private with her later. There were no secrets between them.

“Of course, my Princess,” Lord Dayne signaled to members of his household to escort her and Larra to the prepared chambers. They would be staying only a couple days before starting their journey north.

Elia was surprised the room she was given was so well furnished, she hoped they had not gone out of their way for such a brief visit. Larra swept through to assist her in setting out her gown for the feast the Daynes would be holding for their arrival, then departed to begin preparing herself. She had just settled into a bath when there was a knock at the door.

“My Princess,” Ash called from the other side of the door, “May I enter?”

Smirking Elia replied, “Have you already bathed?”

Ashara entered in a shift, “Not yet princess.”

“Good, you can help with my hair,” Elia slid over so Ash could join her, “I’ve wondered why your ancestors built such large baths.”

Ash smirked as she removed her shift and climbed into the bath, “These were originally the quarters for the children of the lords and ladies of Starfall. During the time before the Andals and Rhoynar the Lord of Starfall would have many wives and many children. This was the room for the eldest daughters.”

“No wonder the rest of Westeros thinks we have no shame,” Elia japed as Ash looked through the soaps and oils that had been placed by the servants.

“We have shame, I would never jump into a bath with Larra,” Ash frowned, “It is good she is not here; you probably want to know what my brother wished to speak of.”

Elia turned to her, “Only if you wish to tell me.”

Ash nodded, “After the king made mention of matching me with Eddard, he sent word to Rickard Stark. The King in the North is not against the match but will not force his son into a betrothal.”

“Is that all?” Elia laughed, “I thought it was something dreadful. If you and the Prince of the North hit it off, then you already have his father’s blessing.”

Ash sighed, “That is not all. Prince Brandon Stark has made it known to his father that he will abdicate his throne to his younger brother. He will remain the Crown Prince of the North, but once the crown passes to him, he will be passing it to Eddard after a year.”

Elia gasped, “He is a boy of nine, why would he declare he does not wish his father’s crown?”

“Apparently there is a powerful woods witch who lives near Winterfell,” Ashara sighed, “He went to her for council and she told him he would never wear the crown. Even King Rickard takes heed of this witch’s words.”

“That means,” Elia smiled, “You will be the future northern queen,” her smile faded, “Yet what if Brandon weds and sires a son, would they not become heir?”

Ash frowned, “The letter says nothing about such an outcome, but Brandon is already been dubbed the Wild Wolf by the North. I doubt there will be many trueborn sons from him, though he may sire enough Snows to form a blizzard if he is anything like other Wild Wolves in history.”

Elia snickered, “We will have to plan how best to present yourself to your Prince while I gage my own.”

That evening at the feast Oberyn entertained with his ability to claim a room’s attention with his boisterous persona. He drew laughs with his japes and raised a few toasts. He even drew a laugh from the solemn Lady Dayne by revealing in one day he had taught her dire wolf to howl on command. Elia did not have the heart to tell her little brother that the wolf probably howled in response to anyone who tried to mimic her howl.

Their second day at Starfall passed with little excitement other than Larra being caught in bed with a stable boy. The older girl had tried to brush it off, but the boy was dismissed by Lord Dayne. Ash later told Elia that the boy, more of a young man had made advances on her and her younger sister in the past. The boy turned out to be a sand with connections to a branch of House Dayne, that had been why he was not dismissed for past inappropriate behavior.

Oberyn had offered to challenge the stable boy for Larra’s honor, but Lady Blackmont revealed that had not been her first dalliance. Elia was sad about it but with the situation they were bound to find themselves she could not afford a companion with such loose morals. Larra understood and would travel with them as far as her family seat.

The following morning their party set out for the journey to King’s Landing. Following the Torentine they visited High Hermitage before arriving at Blackmont where Larra was left. Her father understood the reason for her dismissal from Elia’s side. From Blackmont they crossed into the Prince’s Pass using trails only known to the Dornish. They bypassed Nightsong as they had been joined by Lord Fowler who had ridden from Skyreach to escort them through the pass.

They made for Ashford where Oberyn demanded they visit the meadow where the Ashford tourney of two oh nine was held. They stayed two days at Ashford. Elia and Ashara allowing Oberyn to drag them to the meadow where he regaled them with the history of the tourney. Lord Ashford was a gracious host, he and his wife joined them in the meadow with a picnic. Lord Ashford and Oberyn became friendly as they discussed the tourney of three generations past.

Ashara asked Lady Ashford why there had been no tourneys at Ashford since that one. “My lord husband’s great grandfather was most ashamed of the death of Prince Baelor at the tourney. He would not hold another during King Maekar’s reign in fear of offending the king. During Aegon the fifth’s reign his grandfather contemplated holding another tourney to erase the memory of the last one, but House Tyrell held one the same year he was planning to. He died the following year and my good father was not keen on such frivolous endeavors. We have not thought of holding a tourney, but mayhap once our sons are holder we will.”

Elia smiled, “I am sure it will be a grand event.”

From Ashford they followed the Cockleswent to Cider Hall where they took a barge up the Mander to Bitterbridge. They stayed only a day in Bitterbridge as the Wheelhouse took time to offload from the barge and be made ready for the road. It was here they heard of a murder in the Kingswood and the trial held for the murders in King’s Landing. Lord Caswell was very vocal about the king’s farce of a trial. Caswell’s son Lorent was unkind to Ashara until he learned she was not a mere servant but a daughter of a noble house.

Oberyn refused to sleep under Caswell’s roof when he failed to chastise his son or force the young man to make an apology. Elia was of similar mind and the three found lodging at Bitterbridg’s only inn. They departed Bitterbridge early the next morning.

Following the Roseroad they were surprised to meet a waiting party just south of Tumbleton. Oberyn was the first to recognize the white armored man in the lead, “Uncle?”

Prince Lewyn rode up to their party ahead of one of his own, “Nephew, it is good to see you again.” He looked at Elia and Ashara who had opened the window of the wheelhouse, “and my lovely niece. I hope the journey has not been hard on you and your young friend.”

“It has been a most enjoyable sojourn, though I am looking forward to our destination,” Elia glared, “Our last stop was less than enjoyable.”

“Bitterbridge?” Lewyn sighed, “Yes, the Caswells are not the most hospitable of people. They still hold a grudge for what happened to them during the Hour of the Wolf.”

Oberyn frowned, “You mean when Cregan sent a pack of dire wolves to terrorize the Caswells. They could not leave their keep for fear of being mauled, and no huntsmen would dare strike the wolves as they were protected under the king’s decree.”

Lewyn nodded, “The Lady Caswell who sent Prince Maelor’s head back to King’s Landing was also fed to Bloth, that was Cregan’s dire wolf. Though, that order was given by Tyland Lannister who took over being Hand of the King as Cregan did not feel he needed such an office to render judgement upon the enemies to the crown.”

Laughing Oberyn lowered his voice, “What need does one King need to be the hand of another to serve out justice.”

“Agreed nephew,” Lewyn sighed, “We will make for Tumbleton then skirt the Kingswood. Shall we.” Lewyn turned his horse northward. Their party moved to take the less worn and unnamed road leading to the market town.

(Lys – 131 AC)

Lysandro Rogare watched the men closely as they entered his manse. A blue rose upon crimson graced their banners and the shields of their soldiers. Two Dothraki Khals stood with their blood riders beside their Westerosi overlord. Baron Eaststark was known to Lysandro. The Commander of the Company of the Rose he carried on his ancestor’s legacy of laying waste to Essosi culture.

“Lord Commander,” Lysandro smiled in greeting, “I am surprised to see you so far south, the Company has finished razing Myr or was it Norvos this year. It’s hard to tell with your penchant for taking Braavosi coin to terrorize any city that partakes in slavery.”

“You are lucky then I am here on personal matters instead of professional,” Baron glared, “The Three Daughters stuck their noses into something that did not concern them. That alone drew the ire of my people. That you kidnapped and continue to hold a prince of the Westerosi Throne. They call for your blood and the blood of your kin.”

Wetting his lips Lysandro glanced at the massive wolf that had stalked into the room, “I am confused? Has someone misinformed you my dear Lord Commander?”

“Play games with me and you will find yourself among those who can give a detailed account of a dire wolf’s stomach to your gods.” Baron stepped closer to the Lyseni, “Where is Prince Viserys?”

There was a rush of movement as a boy of nine rushed past the guards, “I am here Lord Stark.”

Lysandro fumed as he glanced to his brother who merely shrugged, their guards would be punished for this. He watched as Baron knelt to the boy’s level and for the first time smiled, “My Prince, you may have me confused for another. I am Lord Commander Baron Eaststark of the Company of the Rose. The Warden of the North is a distant cousin of mine. Word reached me of your capture, and I have come to see you returned to Westeros.”

Viserys frowned, “How did you know I was alive? Lysaro said everyone thinks me dead.”

“True, but I have many eyes in many places,” Baron stood, “Though it helped that Bambarro Bazanne hired my sister’s branch of the Company. She would have ridden to retrieve you herself, but the Lysene magisters might not have been so welcoming. She fed Bazanne to her dire wolf since he failed to pay her.”

“Dire wolves need to eat,” one of the Khal’s laughed, “and fat magisters are a filling meal for them.”

The rest of Baron’s companions laughed at the jape. Lysandro stepped forward, “Commander, I have betrothed the Prince to my daughter Larra. I will not just stand aside and let you interfere.”

“Fine,” Baron shrugged, “We will take the girl with us. She will see what Westerosi culture is like and will learn the common tongue. Trust me my dear magister, if she does not at the very least speak the tongue, she has no place at a prince’s side.”

Viserys smiled at that, “Larra is nice, and pretty. Will we return to Dragonstone? I cannot wait to see mother and father again.”

Baron worked his jaw before glaring at Lysandro, “You have not told him?” The magister avoided eye contact and refused to answer. Kneeling once more Baron placed a hand on the young prince’s shoulder, “My Prince, I had not expected you to not know this. Word reached us on our march here, but even before that we knew of part of it. Your father fell in battle with your uncle Aemond. They died with their dragons at the God’s Eye. Your other uncle Aegon took Dragonstone, your mother was captured after fleeing King’s Landing and was killed.”

Paling Viserys looked ready to bolt, “You are taking me back so Aegon can kill me?”

“No,” Baron frowned, “The Usurper is also dead, poisoned in King’s Landing. Your brother Aegon the younger is now king. A regency council has been formed as well as a small council. Tyland Lannister sits as your brother’s Hand, but he is merely a stand in for the men who truly run the kingdom.”

“Stark and Martell,” Viserys smiled sadly, “Mama said they would come to her aid.”

Baron nodded, “Dorne stayed out of the Dance because that is the way of things. Had Aegon and Aemond not personally offended Cregan and the former Hand tried to incite a Bolton rebellion in the North, they would have remained out of it as well.”

“When do we leave for Westeros?” Viserys swallowed his grief at the loss of his parents.

“It will take time,” Baron sighed, “I cannot take you personally as Eaststarks are forbidden from going to Westeros unbidden. I will send a message to my contacts. A Manderly sits on the regency council, he will see you returned. Until then you will stay with us. We have a settlement where you will be safe.”

Lysandro growled, “He would be perfectly safe here.”

“I have no doubt,” Baron glared at the Lysene, “Safe and under your thumb. Unfortunately for you I fear only one man in this world. A man who I must appease, and no amount of coin will change that.”

That day Viserys left Lys with a small guard along with Larra and two of her brothers. They took ship to Pentos and within a moon found a walled settlement, the buildings of obvious Westerosi style. The settlement looked more like a military camp as soldiers trained everywhere.

Viserys noted there were several banners, each with a different variation of the blue rose. A large man approached their party, “So you found him Lord Commander. We are sending him back on one of our ships?”

“Company ships may not enter Westrosi waters,” Baron quoted himself as Viserys had asked why they did not simply sail to Westeros from Lys. Baron sighed, “I sent word to the Manderly sitting on the regency council, he will most assuredly send someone eventually to pick the prince up. Until then he can get reacquainted with some Westerosi customs. The Fishers have been grumbling about a tourney since we cracked the walls of Norvos.”

Viserys frowned, “House Fisher is extinct is it not?”

Baron smirked, “The Fishers are not a house as you would know it. They are what we call our people who descend from the Riverlands.” He pointed to a banner with a blue rose circled by fish, “We fight under banners that recall our origins.”

Looking to the blue rose on crimson of Baron’s banner he frowned, “How does your banner recall your origins with House Stark?”

“It does not,” Baron snickered, “This is your banner my Prince. The crimson of House Targaryen that backs the Rose of the North. We have not oft unfurled this banner. It is rare for a Targaryen to come to Essos.”

(King’s Landing)

Tyland Lannister sat within the small council chamber. He could not see but heard the padding of Bloth’s feet upon the stone floor, the scrape of his claws as he stalked about the room. The massive head nudge his hand and with a smirk he scratched the dire wolf’s ear.

“He seems to like you,” Cregan chuckled, “most greens he has met have ended up becoming dinner.”

“I am not like most greens,” Tyland replied, “Aegon is a good lad, and will be a good king when the time comes. Are you sure you cannot remain longer?”

Cregan walked closer as he spoke, “We are in winter and my place is in the North. You know of the Oath now and know you can call upon any of Prince Qoren or my banners for assistance. Lord Manderly is on the regency council and will be your greatest ally for now.”

“I know and along with Lord Velaryon remaining in the capital for a time we will keep those with too much ambition at bay. I still am confused why you put my name forward to replace you as Hand.” Tyland leaned back in his chair, “There are men of better health who could take this seat, men who are whole and still have the power of sight.”

“Lord Lannister, have you met my half-sister by chance?” Cregan asked, his voice turning serious.

Tyland frowned, “I have not, though I have been told she is quite the beauty. Rumor has it she was infatuated with Rhaenyra’s eldest.”

“Rumors just,” Cregan assured, “What very few know is that my sister is blind, has been since our uncle attempted to abuse her. The maester said in the struggle he struck her in the head and caused some damage to her eyes, something you cannot see by just looking at her.”

“Truly,” Tyland frowned, “I heard that she fought as a commander of your armies. How is that possible?”

Cregan lowered his voice, “Have you ever heard of a warg?”

“Skin changer?” the Lannister chuckled, “I heard tales when I was a boy, but they were just that.”

“There are many truths in nursemaid tales my friend,” Cregan continued, “We call our dire wolves’ partners because they are just that. We warg with them, and they are constant companions. My sister is more skilled at the art, she was even before being blinded. She is one of only a handful of people I have heard of who can partially warg into another animal, in her case a hawk I gifted her some years ago. She utilizes the hawk and her own dire wolf to supplement her lack of vision.”

Tyland laughed, “Do you expect me to learn to warg with an animal? I am no Stark.”

“True,” Cregan laughed, “but you have the blood of the First Men running in your veins.”

(King’s Landing – 271)

Arthur shouldered his practice sword as Eddard panted on the ground of the godswood, “I think that is enough for today my lord, we should be getting cleaned up to receive my sister and our Dornish guests.”

Jumping back to his feet the younger boy seemed suddenly refreshed, “Agreed, but we will meet again, tomorrow right?”

“Of course,” Arthur laughed, “we are going to eventually have to let Rhaegar in on our training. He is getting a bit jealous that we keep vanishing into these woods.” He watched Eddard sheath his practice sword and hand it to an observing guard, “I would also hate for him to see that at your age I break a sweat before defeating you. Not to mention you have already gotten one hit on me.”

Eddard frowned, “That was a lucky hit, you stumbled over that tree root. Also, you are used to wielding Dawn not these tourney blades the Widow permits us to use.”

“A hit is a hit no matter the circumstances,” Arthur explained, “Had that been a true battle then my folly for failing to notice the root would have meant my death and your victory. In battle it is not just two men swinging swords at one another. A true warrior uses every aspect of their surroundings to their advantage. Fighting a in these woods has even improved my own skills. I had become complacent with the conditions of the training yards; I have forgotten the most basic of rules when it comes to fighting.”

“Like three years ago when you were beaten by a one of my household guard at Winterfell,” Eddard smirked, “I should write to her and tell her she did no lasting damage, she was quite concerned for that pretty face of yours.”

Arthur groused, “If your brother had told me ahead of time she’d been training since she could walk, I’d have taken her more seriously. Even Ash did not start training with her knife until she was eight.”

Walking from the godswood the pair found Rhaegar and Connington waiting for them, “There you two are, when we could find neither of you in any of the usual spots, we decided to give a try here.” The Prince patted Jon’s shoulder, “We would have done more than wait to see but Jon here was a bit nervous after the last time he entered the woods without you Eddard.”

Jon glared at the woods, “I swear there is something in there.”

“Of course, there is,” Arthur snorted, “About a dozen Children who get their jollies by making you go around in circles.”

Eddard nodded, “That and Fury is probably in there somewhere waiting to jump out and startle you. Jon you need to stop making yourself an easy target. Nothing in there is going to hurt you unless you try hurting it first.”

“You are not the one who has a disembodied century old Great Bastard sneaking up on you,” Jon’s shoulders sagged, “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Probably has something to do with your devoutness to the Faith,” Rhaegar surmised, “The Children and Fury are basically connected to the North and their religion. As for Lady Shiera, that might be some of my family’s fault for forgetting about her for so long. Great-grandfather wrote about her in his journals and some of his entries date after her supposed death.”

Jon frowned, “Ned, are there many people like her in the North, you said green seers sometimes end up like her?”

“I did, and I thought I mentioned it is a rare occurrence,” Eddard frowned, “Even so I have never known or heard of it prolonging a person’s life as it has Lady Shiera. Usually those green seers die within a few weeks.”

“Ah,” Rhaegar grimaced, “Now with that thought we should really head for the throne room. Word arrived that the Martell party has entered King’s Land and should be arriving shortly.”

(Throne Room)

Rhaella stood beside the throne, Aerys having called for her to attend this greeting. Her brother-husband sat upon his throne broodingly, they had spent the last two nights in Shiera’s chamber as the tower room had quickly been dubbed by those who knew of it. Their ancestral aunt had many secrets to reveal since beginning to act as Aerys eyes and ears throughout the capital. It had been Rhaella herself who had asked Shiera to see how the small folk themselves viewed their king.

Aerys had preened with pride when she reported that currently the people saw him as a just king who would protect even them. It was the words of a few hedge knights that had set her husband’s mood to sour. They were unhappy that Aerys allowed a huntsman’s son to become a page for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. “Rhaella, attend me.” She turned to see him motion for her to ascend the throne.

Climbing the steps, she was careful of the sharp points and barbs. Aerys stood to remove a cushion Tywin had placed for himself and placed it on the step at his feet. As she sat, she smiled tightly, “How can I serve your grace?”

“How long does it take to come from the Rose Gate to the Red Keep,” Aerys groused in a low voice, “Should have kept the welcoming to a small gathering instead of a full court.”

“Your grace greeted Eddard with a full court, it is only fair you do so for Elia and Oberyn as well,” Rhaella placed a hand on her brother’s knee, “You are still angered about what those hedge knights said?”

Aerys glared, but not at her, at something only he could see, “The lad serves our House, where do those landless knights think it is their place to question my decisions. I am their King.”

“Noah serves House Targaryen and the Crown,” Rhaella confirmed, “As his father and grandfather before him has. Let not the drunken words of lesser men bother you husband.” She noticed a court attendant approach, “It seems our guests have arrived.”

“Hmm, indeed,” Aerys patted her hand, “You have been a dutiful wife and a loyal sister. Maekar’s words on his feelings for Lady Shiera have made me realize something. I may have desired Joanna Lannister when we were young. Yet father was right, I needed someone who is my equal. Alas Rickard had no sister for me to steal away.”

Rhaella smirked, “I am sure if he had one you would have asked before trying to steal her. Dragons are above theft.”

“Right we are my dear,” Aerys helped Rhaella to stand and guided her down the steps before retaking his seat on the throne, kicking the cushion off the side of the throne.

The party from Dorne entered the throne room just after Rhaegar and his shadows slid into place next to the Queen. Rhaella scrutinized Arthur and Eddard and noted both had obviously come straight from training in the godswood. Arthur hurried to his place in the line of Kingsguard, Gerold scowling at his training garb. Jon discreetly made his way to the other squires as a servant standing by the throne rushed toward Eddard with a horsehair brush to dust off his tunic.

“Mother, you knew we would find Eddard and Arthur in the godswood?” Rhaegar smirked at the servants as she pulled out a comb and made a few quick swipes through the younger boy’s hair.

Rhaella sighed, “Of course, this time of day they are normally there if Arthur is not on duty with you.”

“I would feel offended if I knew what adventures my friends are getting into while I am stuck in small council meetings,” Ned only attended the morning meetings with Rhaegar before their joint lessons. Afternoon sessions were attended by Aerys as of late and were held during Ned’s normal practice and since the meetings usually only rehashed the morning meeting and laid out the topics for the next morning meeting. The King decided it was a waste of Ned’s time to attend, if Rhaegar could be so lucky.

Focusing on the three people approaching the throne Rhaegar immediately noticed Elia and Oberyn, he had met both during a trip with his mother to Sunspear around five years ago. It had been after one of his stillborn siblings and the Princess had asked them to visit the Water Gardens. It was how refreshed and healthy his mother was on their return that had sparked his father’s paranoia that she was being poisoned in some way.

The second girl he was not personally known to but had read a number of her letters to Arthur over the last five years. It had been on that visit to Sunspear that Arthur was made his sworn shield and dubbed a Kingsguard upon their return to King’s Landing. Ashara Dayne was a lovely girl of eleven, and in a few years, she would be a true beauty.

“Who is that with the Martells?” Eddard asked in a whisper, both had been scolded a few times for speaking too loudly during court.

Rhaegar smirked, being one of the few aware of his father’s machinations in this matter, “That would be Lady Ashara Dayne. Arthur’s sister and a handmaid to Princess Elia Martell.”

“Ashara?” Eddard seemed lost for a moment, “She is quite comely is she not.”

“Attracted to older women I see,” Rhaegar snickered lightly, “She is three years your senior.”

Eddard huffed, “I was merely stating a fact my prince. Princess Elia is quite a beauty in her own right as well.”

“Definitely attracted to older women,” Rhaella joined in teasing the young northerner, “Though, only a seven-year difference there.”

“I’m just going to stop talking,” Eddard groused as the three newcomers knelt.

Aerys assessed the three before speaking, “Rise, and be welcome to King’s Landing. I heard from Lord Ashford your party stayed longer than originally planned. I hope there was no problems.”

“None your grace,” Oberyn spoke, “I wished to visit the Ashford Meadow where they held the tourney where Ser Duncan the Tall fought in a trial of seven.”

Aerys scoffed, “Oh yes the Ashford Meadow affair. Grandfather spoke of it from time to time, never painted his brothers in the most flattering of colors. Daeron the craven liar that he was and Aerion Brightflame. I am sure Prince Rhaegar can tell you more about it than I, I believe he has read nearly every account from it.”

“So has my dear brother, all save one of course.” Elia answered, “Anything recorded in the White Book is known only to knights of the Kingsguard as well the kings and princes they serve.”

“True my lady,” Aerys nodded to Elia, “I hope you will find King’s Landing to your liking.”

Elia glanced at Rhaegar, “I am sure I will your grace.”

(Later outside the White Sword Tower)

Ashara waited as one of the pages ran up to find her brother. The two guarding the door would not let her pass because it was improper for a Lady to enter the tower. “Boys what is going on here?”

Turning she noted two of the Kingsguard approach. Barristan the Bold and Harlan Grandison, the elder of whom had spoken. One of the pages coughed in surprise, “Sers this Lady is seeking Ser Arthur. Says she is his sister and wished a word with him.”

“I see,” Ser Harlan nodded to her, “My apologies my lady, but Arthur is not here presently.”

Ashara frowned, “I was told he is not with the Prince, so where else would he be?”

Barristan chuckled, “Were our youngest brother is if he is not with the prince or sleeping. Training either down in our order’s private training yard or out in the godswood with Lord Eddard. Seeing the time, I would guess the training yard here. Lord Eddard was with the King when we were relieved.”

“How would I find this so secret training yard?” Ashara hummed.

“It is no secret my lady,” Barristan offered his arm, “I will escort you to your brother, then he can inform you of his ever so busy schedule.”

Ashara took the knight’s arm, “Thank you ser, it would have saved time had he not disappeared so swiftly following welcome. I still need to get ready for the feast.”

(Moat Cailin – 271 AC)

Brandon rode into the keep ahead of the joint Lannister and Tyrell party. As the party began to dismount, he walked to the wheelhouse where William was already assisting the ladies out, “How was the ride William?”

“I will never live this down will I Bran?” William snorted as he gave Lady Tyrell his good arm to steady her decent.

Brandon gently patted William’s still healing shoulder, “My friend you wound me. To ride all day with such lovely ladies, though I did spot you standing on the steps a few times.”

“Lady Tyrell wished to speak with her husband, I was merely signaling for him to come.” William watched as Genna Lannister descended without assistance though she patted the young man’s cheek as she passed, “Please tell Lady Lannister than I can ride just fine with only one arm.”

“Oh, but Will father offered for you to remain at Winterfell,” Brandon noticed Cersei waiting for assistance and bowed dramatically, “Pardon my lady, were are our manners, to make such a beauteous Lady such as yourself wait.”

Playing along Cersei stuck her nose up, “Yes, were have your manners gone. Lyanna boasted her brother was a true gentleman. I guess she was speaking of the other one.”

William snorted, “Most definitely talking about Ned. Bran’s the wild one that steals kisses from pretty red headed free folk girls.”

“William,” Brandon choked, “That was one time and she kissed me.”

Joanna appeared at the door, “A flummoxed Stark, now I have seen everything. What did I miss dear?”

Cersei looked up at her mother, “Lord William said that Lord Brandon steals kisses from red headed free folk girls.”

Lady Lannister smirked, “Does he now? Does his lord father know of this behavior?”

“The old wolf prefers she-bears,” Brandon groused as he offered a hand to Joanna as William helped Cersei, “and yes father knows I spend a lot of time among the free folk. I am big for my age, but I am only nine. I would never take advantage of their hospitality.”

William nodded, “I can vouch for that. Besides, he is the Stark’s son, so they do not offer us daughters when we stay in their camps.”

“I am not familiar with Northern customs,” Joanna frowned, “Do the Free Folk often offer their daughters to visiting lords?”

“No,” Brandon glared at his friend, “At least not in summer, but it is customary to share sleeping arrangements during winter or on cold nights. Free folk tents are pretty warm but can get chilly once the fire goes out. In the North, sharing a bed is not always for the intimacy meant for a husband and wife.”

Joanna smirked, “I see, you have heard about my good-brother and one of your household guards?”

“I have,” Brandon shook his head, “Of all the options he went with a Thenn. A braver man than most.”

“I half expected him to ride back from Castle Cerwyn to Winterfell,” Joanna tsked, “I feared the day he would be smitten with a girl he could not keep. He is betrothed, though his bride is yet to be born.”

Brandon frowned, “How? Does that work?”

Joanna sneered, “My husband’s father was not the savviest of men as you might have heard. Nearly destroyed our House had Tywin not done what was necessary. Yet not all of Tytos’ missteps could be undone. Tytos promised Tygett would marry a daughter of House Marbrand to continue the close ties that house has with our own. As of now there are no unwed daughters of that House that are of proper age to marry Tygett.”

Brandon scoffed, “That is why we do not make such promises in the North. Betrothals are only arranged after the people in question have met and the match is seen as good by all parties involved. Potential betrothals do occur.”

“Really,” Joanna gave Brandon a piercing gaze, “has your father mentioned any potential betrothals for yourself?”

“No as of late,” Brandon shrugged, “There are prospects throughout the North. Though, my father has mentioned he is looking into one for Ned. Something the King mentioned in his last letter.”

“Ned?” Joanna frowned, “You mean your brother Eddard in King’s Landing correct?”

Brandon nodded, “Yes, his grace and my father are close confidants and he was very eager for Eddard to be his ward. I will have to take a trip south in a couple years to meet Prince Rhaegar again and see how my little brother is getting along.”

“Beware,” Joanna smirked, “Who knows how large the Prince’s entourage of shadows will be by then. Your brother and my son. Tywin mentioned Oberyn Martell should be there by now along with his sister. The Prince and your brother have rallied the youth of the Red Keep into a sort of shadow court that acts as the King’s will.”

“I will try to avoid being dragged into the Prince’s shadow my lady,” Brandon offered his arm, “Shall we escape to the great hall before we become targets for them?” He indicated where Cersei was demonstrating how to make a snowball. Something William as a Northman knew all too well.

Joanna groused, “Let us depart, your sister and my Cersei are far too alike. She has been pestering me about sending a letter to her but I have assured her that your sister’s response would have to go to the Rock so it can wait.”

Brandon opened the door to the keep and seeing movement from the corner of his eye moved to take the two well aimed snowballs, “If you have Cersei write a letter I will pay the runner to deliver it and to carry a response back. Unlike ravens a runner can deliver a message anywhere and will track their recipients down endlessly.”

As he closed the door, he heard Cersei remark, “You were right William, we threw at mama and we hit Lord Brandon.”

(King’s Landing – 132 AC)

Alyn Velaryon stood watch over his father’s body as various lords and ladies stepped forward to pay their respects. Corlys had died of old age, but a portrait of him had already been commissioned by Aegon to be added to the Dowager Queen’s chambers. Aegon sat the throne stoically as Tyland stood resolutely four steps from the floor. A hawk on his shoulder, an eerie companion the blind hand had taken to shortly before Cregan departed north.

Tyland suddenly directed his scarred visage toward him, “He was a good man Alyn, and he will be missed. Were it so, he could have enjoyed a few more years of peace before being called by the gods?”

“Agreed Lord Hand,” Alyn smiled tightly, it was always unnerving how the blind man could seemingly see. There were whispers that Sara Snow was a witch and cast a spell so that the Lord Hand could see through the eyes of others including the hawk.

His nieces stood stoically their eyes never leaving Corlys mortal remains, save to accept condolences from the passing nobility. Rhaena and Baela had been surprised to find their grandfather confined to his chambers in the Red Keep by Lord Stark. Though it was the eldest Velaryon who instructed them all in the matters of the Oath. Alyn planned to sail North as soon as winter passed to speak with Cregan himself.

Finally, the last of the mourners had passed through the door as the kingsguard pulled them closed. Tyland awaited Aegon to assist him down the final steps, “Tyland I can walk down the steps of the throne on my own.”

“I am aware my King,” Tyland smirked, “Unfortunately in this matter it is I needing the assistance.”

“Sorry, sometimes I forget you cannot see,” Aegon helped his Hand back to the safety that was anywhere besides the Iron monstrosity. Aegon then turned to Alyn, “Has Manderly returned yet?”

Alyn smiled gently, “Not yet my King, but he only left a week ago. Even a merman needs time to travel to Essos.”

“I know, it’s just,” Aegon looked to his sisters, “It is Viserys, he survived.”

“From the reports we received it is indeed your brother. The Company of the Rose found him and took custody of him, it has taken time to arrange his retrieval since contact with the Company is done through intermediaries,” Tyland assured, “Soon he will be returned to the Red Keep.”

Alyn frowned, “Did we have to pay a ransom for him?”

“From the Company? Do not be foolish Alyn,” Tyland scoffed, “We sent them a reward of course for their service to the crown. Much less than whoever had custody of the prince before them would have asked.”

Baela turned to them, “We will need to make plans for welcoming Viserys home. As soon as final arrangements for grandfather’s state funeral have been made.”

“Of course, princess,” Tyland bowed and the hawk took wing to circle the Hand, “I will speak with the small council and make arrangements.”

They watched the Hand leave, the hawk settling back on his shoulder as he passed through the door opened by the kingsguard. Alyn bowed in turn, “I will have a ship prepared to take my father’s body back to Drift Mark. I will see you all at evening meal.” Upon departing the throne room Alyn ran into Grand Maester Munkun, “Grand Maester, good day.”

“Good day Lord Velaryon,” Munkun gave a curt nod in greeting, “On my way to the small council, how is his grace and his sisters today. They were all rather close to your lord father.”

“We have all lost much in these trying times. Parents, siblings, friends, they are doing as well as any of us. His grace is most anxious to see his brother once more.” Alyn growled, “If this turns out to be some cruel hoax or a pretender I will not be amused.”

Munkun snorted, “I can assure you the Company would never be part of some plot to place a pretender in the royal lineage or perpetrate some hoax. They fear something far worse than your petty ire Lord Velaryon.”

“What do they fear?” Alyn wondered what could make a band of exiles fearful.

“The wrath of the north,” Munkun seemed to quake at the very thought, “We had a taste of its power here barely a year past when Cregan Stark walked these halls. Yet that was only a taste of the true terror the North has at its disposal.”

Alyn chuckled, “What? Do they have ice dragons at their command? Their wolves were unsettling for sure but what are they against the few remaining dragons the royal family yet commands.”

“You are a Velaryon,” Munkun became solemn, “Sail North, walk the fields. Travel the Gift and New Gift. Set foot on Skagos and Bear Island. Visit the castles along the Wall. When you return come to me and tell me what you have learned, what the true wrath of the north really is.”

Alyn watched the maester walk in the direction of the small council chamber. As the man went the new lord of Drift Mark had more questions than answers, and sorely wished his father were still there to answer them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends the Dance, but it will possibly be revisited a bit in coming chapters as the survivors reminisce as they move on with their lives. Alyn will be making a trek North, probably with some traveling companions.  
> After Tywin's return to King's Landing there will be a bit of a time jump as Rhaegar's generation will need to age up a bit for their part in the story to begin.


End file.
